


Baldur's Gate: The Woman of Letters

by edajane1



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Conversations, Coming of Age, Drama, F/M, Gen, POV Multiple, Scholar Turned Warrior, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 86,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edajane1/pseuds/edajane1
Summary: By rights, a parent should encourage their child to play outside, not shut them in with tutors to crash course life skills. And yet, if Gorion had raised her any other way, Elene would not have been prepared to face the threats that await in her journey to become the Terror of the Sword Coast.Character study of a former scribe-in-training and her closest companions.
Relationships: Jaheira/Khalid (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. The fork in the road

**Author's Note:**

> The story will follow Elene's journey through BG1 and set up the stakes for BG2 which I hope to write to its eventual conclusion. In general, the story anchors on the canon storyline with some creative licenses taken along the way to tie together some plot points. Do expect some content from BG1 NPC Project to crop up now and then and 5e D&D applied liberally here and there especially with respect to spells.
> 
> It is a bit of a slow start, with pieces carefully coming together as the story progresses. I haven't figured out if I would like romance to feature in the main story. If it makes sense, I suppose that portion will work out organically. :)
> 
> Hope you will enjoy the story.

Kivan awoke.

The morning was cool, the last chill of Tarsakh leaking into Mirtul, a cool touch upon his limbs. As the leaves grow and flowers bloom, the air will get warmer in the coming weeks. He almost looked forward to it.  
Sitting up, he rustled through his satchel in search of dried food. He had preserved enough from the last hunt to last him another two days, but he would need to hunt again soon. In the past he had found some measure of solace from the act of hunting for food. Now, it barely registered as a chore, something which needed to be done to stay alive. 

He thought as he chewed his meagre breakfast. The band he was tracking was cleverer than the last one. The members never separated from the core group, making it more difficult to pick them off one by one. The fact that they were moving coherently as one indicates that this group has an objective – they were after something.

What could it be? A valuable caravan?

He frowned. He had already seen what happened to caravan unlucky enough to be in the path of these brigands. Depending on how the day fared, he may have to trail them more closely to find out for sure. Risky, but he was not going to make any headway otherwise.

With that decided, he traced dark ink from his waist pouch onto his forehead and chin in a familiar pattern, a brief prayer to Shevarash on his lips. He rolled up his bedroll and prepared to return to the hunt. 

The tell-tale marks of human passing were as clear as day to him despite their efforts to cover their tracks. Few in their right mind would wander the no-man’s land between the Lion’s Causeway and Beregost. There was no doubt that he was pursuing the right tracks. What remained unclear was what he meant to do when he caught up to them. 

The past groups he had picked off were careless and he tended to target stragglers or scouts. While the strategy has worked well the past few months, as the brigands’ numbers dwindled, they may have cottoned on to the fact that there was someone in the woods hunting them. Either that, or their ranks have swelled substantially with recruits in recent months.

So here he was, one elf trailing a band of eight brigands. 

_Things are escalating._

He needed a plan. More importantly, he needed allies. He mulled over the second thought as he trekked. As the days go by, the thought of finding anyone crazy enough to join him on his suicidal task became increasingly absurd. And yet, his mission is almost assured of failure if he were to continue his reckless one-man crusade. A difficult puzzle that he had not the answer to yet.

As the sun reached its zenith, the trees began to thin out slightly as his path led him closer to the Lion’s Way. He unslung his bow to walk with the weapon in hand, his other hand hovering close to the quiver of arrows at his belt. The wolves and gibberlings in the area were becoming more daring of late. Brigands in the woods meant that the natural prey of these beasts have been chased away or hunted down. Best to be on his guard.

And yet it was not the growling of wolves or shrieking of gibberlings that made him pause. Instead, he heard voices. Two voices. Faint and indistinct, but close by.

He hesitated. Had he gotten too close to the brigand group? Based on the tracks, he was at least several miles behind them, thus should not be within hearing range, even with his elven ears. He tilted his head and listened intently – the voices were from the east, the tracks head north. It could not be his quarry; the tracks did not add up. It was possible that there is another group of travellers plying the same route. But any traveller worth their salt would not be making such noise in the wilderness. 

As he contemplated the situation, the voices began wafting closer to his position, effectively taking the decision out of his hands. Looking around, he noted that the foliage was still dense in that area, more than adequate for him to conceal himself despite the bright afternoon sun. So, he blended into the natural shadows of the trees around him and waited. 

“How do you know we’re going the right way, though?”

“I don’t. I’m going north because the map says we should be going north.”

Two women walked into sight. Dressed in travelling garb and armed, both were of the same height with one more slender than the other. Likely an elf and a human. City folk, judging from the attire and how they spoke and carried themselves.

“Kinda wish we paid more attention to geography lessons, huh.”

A sigh. “Well, never thought I’d actually need map-reading skills, Im.”

As they stepped closer, Kivan realised that they were both noticeably young. Girls, not women. The elf was pale-skinned and slim even by elven standards. She seemed fatigued and roughed up, a crimson patch staining her left shoulder, where her leather vest ended. With a bow on her back, her human companion appeared more energetic, bright eyes darting here and there as though trying to capture every scene around her. 

While their steps were light, they were not careful enough to avoid disturbing twigs and stones which clearly heralded their passing to any predator, man or beast, in the vicinity. And they were currently heading on the same path that the brigands were on. If these two were captured by those men, death would be a blessing before it came. 

A flash of memory appeared in his mind, of dead blue eyes staring up into the sky and bloody, slender fingers curled up against the ground. His hand tightened on his bow and he knew by sheer instinct that he could not let these girls walk into that fate.

“Hail,” he said, stepping slowly out from the shadows. 

The girls almost leaped back in surprise, alarmed at the sudden appearance of a hooded man seemingly out of thin air. 

“It is not often that I come across strangers in this part of the world. What takes you out this far from civilisation?” he asked, keeping his hands open and within sight.

The girls shared a long, nervous look with one another before the elf inched forward.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she stammered. She swallowed to steady herself, her hand resting lightly on her sword hilt. Her eyes were wide and wary, trying to gauge his threat level. “We…well, we are on the path to the Friendly Arm Inn. If I may ask, what brings you out here?”

Kivan raised an eyebrow at her mannerism, completely out of place in the wilds. He noted that her friend was furtively scanning around the area, either for an escape route or more random strangers to leap out from the trees, he could not tell for sure. Suddenly remembering his own manners, he lowered his hood to let them see his face. He did not miss the raised eyebrows of the elf as she took in his pointed ears and elven features with great interest.

“Hunting,” he answered simply. “And this is not the path to the Friendly Arm.”

“It’s not?” asked the human in dismay. She promptly clapped her hand to her mouth as the elf shot her an aggravated look. 

The elf turned to him again. Seeing a fellow elf seemed to have allayed some of her fear. She took a deep breath and decided to go with honesty this time around. “Please, sir. You seem to know this area. We have been going in circles for a bit, and we’d appreciate if you could point us in the right direction. We need to meet some friends there.”

He took another look at the girls. Barring the bloody stain on the elf, their clothes were clean, their boots barely soiled. The equipment they carried look new and their grip on their weapons seemed unsure. He wondered if they may have been separated from another group…a group that was meant to protect or care for them. That would make more sense than two girls wandering around the wilderness without the necessary skills to navigate.

“You walk in bandit country,” he told them. “I can point you the way, but the fastest route brings you close to the bandits I’ve been tracking.”

“Oh,” the elf hesitated. “How can we avoid them?”

“Avoid their tracks.”

Her eyes flicked to the ground as if expecting to see marks of some sort. She swallowed again when she likely realised that she did not even know what she should be looking for. Her companion fidgeted behind her, likely arriving at the same conclusion. 

“Well, we’re not really the ‘tracking’ sort,” admitted the human sheepishly.

“Downside of never being out in the wild.” The elf’s smile was nervous. “If you could show us the way?”

Kivan exhaled slowly, brows furrowing. “You need to get to the Friendly Arm?”

“Yes. We really need to meet our friends. We will be out of your hair after, we promise.” A tinge of desperation coloured the elf’s voice. 

He glanced northward. The Friendly Arm was but five hours away on flat terrain. It would take almost no effort on his part to get there and back within half a day. But the trail would have grown cold by then and he will lose his quarry. And yet, what sort of ranger would he be if he refused to help these girls get to safety? He was not so far gone that he would contemplate abandoning innocents to a grim fate. Perhaps this was the Gods’ way of answering his puzzle earlier in the day. Perhaps he could try his hand at the Friendly Arm Inn to find allies for his hunt. It was a tack he hadn’t tried in the year he’d spent weeding out the bandit menace.

“I can lead you there,” he offered, surprising himself.

“Really?” The human’s eyes lit up at that, her smile warm and grateful. 

The elf, however, was not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you. We appreciate it.” The elf gestured to herself and then her companion. “I am Elene and my friend here is Imoen. I promise we will find a way to repay you.”

“Kivan,” he replied gruffly. “Word of advice, do not offer such words to just anyone you meet.” He turned, moving towards the underbrush he knows will lead to the main arterial road leading to the Inn. “Come if you wish to reach there by sunset.”

He did not glance over his shoulder to see if they would follow. The scurrying sound of feet after a pause was enough to tell him what he needed to know.

After half a mile, he had to regulate his pace to accommodate to theirs. It was clear that they were unused to long treks. Briefly, Elene and Imoen told him that they were from Candlekeep. Elene’s father was killed in an ambush before they could make much headway in their journey – from her description, it did not sound anything like the bandits he was pursuing. At least, his suspicions about them being wholly unprepared for a dangerous journey were confirmed. 

“What were the brigands after?” Kivan asked, wondering if this was a new group of bandits in the area.

Elene tugged at her sleeve. “He…the man said he was looking for me.”

“Why?” he asked, giving her a curious once over, noticing that she had doe-like green eyes. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but hardly worth the effort of hunting for in the middle of the wilderness at night. 

“I don’t know, I’m just a nobody. My father…” she shook her head, “he never said anything.”

He considered that for a few moments. While he was somewhat unfamiliar with this region, he did know that Candlekeep was a human library fortress. An unusual place for an elf to claim as origin. “You’ve never ventured out of Candlekeep before?”

“Well, no. There was never any reason to.”

She glanced down as she said that and offered no more. There was an unspoken ‘until today’ at the end of that sentence, he could tell. His gaze flicked to the other girl, Imoen. She was looking over at her friend in concern. He refocused on their path forward, deciding to take a less direct route to the Friendly Arm in case these girls had enemies in pursuit.

“Kivan,” Elene said after a long lull. “You mentioned you were tracking bandits?”

“I did.”

She seemed to struggle with something for a moment, but curiosity won out. “Why are you tracking them?”

“Their leader took the life of someone very dear to me.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry to hear that.”

He did not respond. Condolences meant nothing to him. Only vengeance has meaning. 

“Um, Kivan?” It was Imoen this time. “How long does it take to get to the Friendly Arm from here?”

“Five hours.”

He picked up his pace. Although he had not spotted traces of any brigands on their current path, all this talking was bound to attract some attention soon. The girls had no choice but to walk faster to keep up.

They eventually reached the Coast Way without molestation. The sun had moved further west but Kivan estimated that they could still reach by sunset. The girls smiled at the sight of a paved thoroughfare which would be kinder on the feet, but he felt uncomfortable walking in the open. At his gesture, they instead shadowed the treeline which traced the outline of the main thoroughfare. It was harder to get ambushed this way, he told them.

Being close to the treeline then put them closer to things living in the deep wood. Soon enough, he had shot and killed several gibberlings, dispatching them before the creatures could close on the travellers. As he inspected some of the carcasses, he noted that they all looked starved. Imoen also shot one of the beasts but due to her inexperience, her shots tended to wound instead of killing outright.

As they drew close to the monolith marking the crossroad linked the Lion’s Way to the Coast Way, Kivan spotted a man leaning on the structure, seemingly smoking a pipe. The man was dressed in red traveling garb, topped off with a rather large hat. Kivan was instantly wary when the man looked up and started walking towards them.

As he stepped closer, they could see that he was an old man, with snow white hair and beard. Despite the seeming aura of harmlessness he exuded, there was cunning in his eyes and his smile was enigmatic. He looked directly at Elene as he spoke.

“Ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man,” the man greeted warmly. “It’s been nigh unto a tenday since I’ve seen a soul walking this road and I’ve been without decent conversation since. Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, might I enquire which pertains to thee?”

Elene blinked at the question. The surprise and strain she was feeling did not put her up to responding in a particularly polite manner. She shot the old man a sceptical look. “Not to imply anything, sir, but how do you measure up to your own standards? Accosting strangers about their mental state doesn’t seem all that well adjusted to me.”

Kivan spared her a sidelong glance while Imoen twitched uncomfortably.

The old man, however, chuckled at her reply. “Point well taken…and thou hadst answered my query most adequately. I shall think of thee as determined instead. I shall trouble thee no more as thou art more than capable of the task at hand. North is the Friendly Arm Inn, where I am certain thou shalt find trustworthy friends awaiting. I have said too much and taken too much time from thee.” He tipped his hat. “Fare thee well.”

And off he went, with the three travellers watching his retreating back.

“How did he know we were going to the Friendly Arm Inn?” Imoen asked in the silence that followed.

“I don’t know. But I think we should hurry.” Elene looked to Kivan. “Can we go?”

Strange as the situation seemed to him, he was not going to argue. They continued northward in silence.


	2. The warm welcome

They arrived at the Friendly Arm Inn just as the last rays of the sun disappeared in the West. The ominous stone keep towered over the trees and the girls paused for a moment to take the scene in. In hushed tones, Elene told Imoen that she had read about this place before, that it was once a temple dedicated to an evil god before The Time of Troubles. Since then, adventurers cleared it out and turned it into a popular inn. Kivan had heard of a similar story – in his case, the origins of a place never concerned him, only its existing function mattered.

Walking up to the well-lit drawbridge, one of the guards stationed there nodded to Kivan. Although the ranger made his living in the wilderness, he came to the Friendly Arm often enough that he had become somewhat familiar to the people there. Not many elves plied this route, after all.

“You know the rules of this establishment, Master Elf,” the guard said. “Make sure your companions follow them as well.”

Kivan nodded. The Friendly Arm had a well-known no fighting and no crime rule. Based on what he had seen thus far, he doubted either girl would have the capacity to break either rule. The girls exchanged curious looks at the guard’s remark but followed him without comment.

The interior of the fortress walls consisted of a hamlet with small, thatched buildings scattered across. A handful of men and women were out and about even as the day darkened, tending to various chores. The atmosphere was unhurried, quaint even – reminding Elene somewhat of Candlekeep during evening bell. The place looked nothing like the temple of an evil god. Glancing about, she decided that she quite liked the place. Imoen tugged at her arm, a smile on her lips. She was excited, Elene could tell. Like her, Imoen had never left Candlekeep since childhood. Unlike her, however, Imoen had always wanted to see the outside world. Elene would have been reasonable happy to be a scribe in Candlekeep for the rest of her days.

“The inn is further inside,” Kivan said. He glanced at a trio of guards conversing by the stables, spotting a familiar face. Here was the opening for him to collect information on possible allies for his mission. Although he’d frequented the place enough times, he’d never tried to companions before. He reached out for a parting handshake. “I take my leave of you now. May you find the friends you seek.”

Elene stepped up to him and clasped his hand with both hands. Although he’d initiated it, he nearly flinched at the contact, the first touch he had received from another person in what seemed like years. “Thank you for getting us here. We probably wouldn’t have made it otherwise. How can we ever repay you?”

“By staying alive,” he said simply.

She huffed a small laugh and nodded at him, releasing his hand.

“Bye, Kivan. Hope we meet again someday!” Imoen waved at him. 

With quick smiles, they parted ways. The girls ventured further into the courtyard of the keep while Kivan approached the guard captain for the Friendly Arm in search of information. At the back of his mind, he hoped that they could keep out of trouble until they had found the right people.

“Hail, Captain Garth,” he greeted the guard captain. “The eve finds you well, I trust.”

The man nodded at him - a stocky, weather-beaten man who looked at home in chainmail armour. They clasped each other’s forearms in a warrior’s handshake. While hunting bandits was grisly work, it had won Kivan some respect around these parts.

“Elf, good to see you again. Those who venture out in the wilds these days usually don’t come back in one piece,” Captain Garth replied grimly. “What brings you back so soon? I swear you were just here two tendays ago.”

Kivan felt no need to mention escorting the girls to safety, so he went straight to the point. “I seek information on traveling companions.”

“Tough odds on the road, I take it.” The Captain gave him a thoughtful look. “Companions, you say. Funny you should ask, there have been a number of strangers showing up of late, all looking for some trouble or other. A week ago, a halfling and a wizard came through.” He huffed dryly. “Trouble all over, those two, but be glad that you missed them. One of our guests were found dead the day those two left the Inn.”

“About the people who are still here…let’s see. There’s a bard over in the taproom, seems to be the adventuring sort. Reckon Bentley is gonna run that bard out of here in a couple of days, the way that fella’s been behaving.” Garth stroked his chin. “Two travellers showed up naught but three days ago. Man and woman, some kind of elf folk. Good friends with Bentley, looked like. They keep to themselves but look to be decent enough.”

“Then there’s that fella Tarnesh, came up to the inn yesterday. Competent-looking, I suppose, if a bit greasy. Keeps bothering the women here, asking their names and where they came from and such. If you can look past that, he may be in with a shout for what you need. My boys suspect he’s a mage of some sort.”

Kivan frowned, reminded of the ambush Elene mentioned, the strange old man on the road who seemed to know her. “Why does he keep bothering the women?”

“Looking for someone, maybe,” Garth shrugged. “Look, he hasn’t caused any trouble so far, so we leave him be. The women complain, though.”

The elf was barely listening. He was struck by a sudden, ominous feeling. “Thank you for your time, Captain. I will keep your words in mind.”

“Good luck with the hunt, elf,” the Captain saluted him casually as he took his leave.

Kivan strode away, brisk steps in the direction the girls went. Not a moment too soon, as Imoen came barrelling out from around the corner, looking as though a demon was in pursuit. Kivan caught her by the arms and steadied her. Her auburn hair was dishevelled from the mad dash, her green eyes were wide and terrified.

“Imoen? Imoen, what’s wrong?”

“No, please! It’s gonna get me!” she squirmed out of his grasp and bolted towards the direction he had come from.

_What in Shevarash’s name…_

Cursing, Kivan ran forward and skidded as he turned the corner. He spotted the trailing leg of someone disappearing into the darkened alley behind the Temple of Garl Glittergold. Unusually for this hour, there was no one else in sight, not even a single guard. His sharp elven ears caught the tell-tale sound of a magic blast, followed by a woman’s cry. He drew his bow and stealthily made his way to the alley in pursuit. He peered through the corner. 

The alley was narrow and dim, just as he remembered it. It was too early in the night to be populated by drunks out to get fresh air, so the entire lane was quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Elene was on the ground with her back against a wall, panting like a wounded animal. A man was closing slowly on her - human, with dark hair and beard, garbed in dark robes. The poor lighting made it difficult to see the man’s expression, but his intent was made clear when he drew a dagger from his belt.

“Nothing personal, you see,” the man said, his voice cold. “I simply need proof of the deed.” 

With the threat clear, Kivan nocked his bow and aimed. At this range, it was child’s play for him. He did not hesitate. The arrow hit the man in the temple, caving his skull and killing him instantly. Elene screamed and wedged herself closer to the wall as the lifeless body toppled over in front of her.

Wasting no time, Kivan jogged to close the distance. He dropped to his knees and deftly went through the dead man’s possessions. Nothing of note except for a satchel strapped to his belt, which Kivan snatched before the guards or anyone else could claim it. Fastening the belt onto his own waist, he turned to assess his fellow elf.

Elene looked pale, skin almost ghostly in the gloom. Her gambeson was singed on the right side, emitting a slight smell of burnt leather. Likely the result of some magical attack, he suspected. While there was some relief in her posture when she recognised her rescuer, the raw fear in her eyes remained.

“Kivan, where is Imoen?” she stammered.

Kivan leaned forward and held her by the shoulders. “Calm, Elene. She should be safe in the courtyard. The guards will help her.” He paused, sensing her trembling where his hands made contact. “You’re safe now.”

His quiet voice seemed to steady her. She nodded shakily, willing herself to believe his words. “I…he tried to kill me.”

“Why?”

“He said,” she grimaced as she looked up at him. “I look like someone he’s searching for. I tried to brush him off, but he just raised his hand and then…I don’t remember what happened. Next thing I know, I was on the ground.”

Hearing footsteps approaching, Kivan motioned for her to wait and sat back on his haunches. Sure enough, two guards appeared from around the corner. He heard Elene sigh in relief when she saw that Imoen was with them, safe and sound, if somewhat shaken. 

“Elene! Are you okay?” Imoen dashed ahead of the guards, embracing her friend in one swoop.

“Hey. I’m alright. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I don’t really know what happened. I just suddenly came to near the stables and I brought the guards over.” Imoen hugged her again. “I was so worried!”

Kivan stood and nodded to the approaching Captain Garth. “Captain.”

The Captain walked over to the corpse resting on its side and turned it over with his foot. He whistled when he saw the full extent of the damage. “Nice shot,” he nodded towards the corpse. “Mind telling me what happened here?”

“He attacked the girl in this alley.” Kivan gestured to Elene. “Thought her an easy target.”

Garth studied Elene with mild curiosity. “He had a thing for elves, eh? You alright, girl? What did he want with you?”

She swallowed, glancing at Kivan. “Nothing good, sir.”

Kivan was thankful that one, she practically radiated innocence and two, she was quick on the uptake. The normally brusque guard captain seemed to accept her explanation at face value and decided to move on. 

“Well, he won’t be bothering anyone anymore. Thanks for taking care of it, Elf. Saves me the trouble of sending him to the brig in Beregost. ‘Ere, Devin, get someone to help you get rid of this filth. Don’t want it stinking up the place.” Garth pulled Kivan close, whispering, “That’s the fella Tarnesh I was telling you about.” Then he turned and left without another word.

The guard accompanying the captain stepped forward to undertake the grisly clean-up. Imoen stared at the corpse, her skin almost as pale as Elene’s. Despite it being dark, there was just about enough illumination to see what that arrow had done to Tarnesh.

“Are you wounded?” Kivan asked his fellow elf.

“Maybe some burns…nothing a good night’s rest won’t fix, I think.”

Kivan offered his hand to Elene. She took it gingerly and grimaced as she wobbled back to her feet. Imoen was at her side in an instant and wrapped her arm around her friend. Wordlessly, the three of them made their way to the inn.


	3. The fateful meeting

The inn for which the Friendly Arm was famous for was bustling and bright - filled with people, music and appetising smells. Bentley and Gellana Mirrorshade put in a lot of effort to ensure their establishment was the go-to stopover for most travellers between Baldur’s Gate and Amn, and it showed. Food was abundant. The tables and furnishings were of good quality and importantly, clean. Even the chandeliers were ensorcelled to dim and brighten at appropriate moments in the evening, often accompanying the tune played by the bard of the night.

He picked them a table by the west wall, between the stairwell and the entrance. It afforded him a good vantage point of the room and was quiet enough to have a private conversation. The girls pulled stools and sat down. He unhooked Tarnesh’s belt from his waist and dropped the belt and satchel onto the table.

Elene looked at the item, her eyes wide with apprehension. Cautiously, she unclasped the satchel and upended it over the table, letting its contents slip out. There wasn’t much in there – some scrolls bound together, a small pouch likely containing some gold, a worn leather-bound book, dry ration and a crumpled piece of parchment. Frowning, she singled out the parchment for closer inspection. 

Imoen whistled. “Looks like the fella definitely was a wizard of some kind. If that there isn’t a spellbook, I’ll eat my hat.”

“What about those scrolls?” Kivan asked.

Imoen took one and unrolled it. “Magic scroll. Looks like an illusion spell, some words that I think mean to ‘not be seen by the eye’. Huh. Invisibility, ya think?”

The question was addressed to Elene, but she did not hear a word of it. She was staring at the parchment in her hand.

“Hey, Lene?” Imoen nudged her friend. “What’s up, you’ve gone all quiet like.”

Elene turned the parchment over to let her companions see for themselves. The first thing that caught Kivan’s eye was a rough sketch of a slender elf with long hair tied into a ponytail – the facial features were pencilled in with great care and detail. At the top of the parchment, the words ‘Bounty Notice’ could be read even from across the table. He flicked his eyes between the sketch and the girl holding up the parchment. The resemblance was uncanny. No wonder Tarnesh singled her out so quickly.

“Wait, what?” Imoen grabbed the parchment and read it up close, her hand shaking. “Three hundred gold?? But…why?”

Elene looked down at her hands miserably and shook her head. Yet somehow, she didn’t seem as shocked as he would have expected her to be.

“Was this the first attempt on your life?” Kivan asked, following a stroke of intuition.

After a long pause, she shook her head again. She seemed to gather herself before elaborating. “A man tried to kill me in Candlekeep. Jumped me in the priest’s quarters.” She looked at Imoen. “That’s why we left so suddenly yesterday. By rights Gorion wanted me to pick up a few more things.” Unconsciously, she began wringing her hands. “Given what happened after, I…I don’t know if it would have made any difference.”

‘Gorion’ is her father, Kivan surmised. Not an elven name, surely.

Imoen stared at Elene, still in disbelief. “But, why would anyone want to kill _you_? You haven’t hurt a fly your whole life. You’re a librarian!”

“I prefer ‘scribe in training’, if you please,” the elf smiled wryly, retrieving the bounty notice from her friend. She took a deep breath, the humour seeping out from her features as she did. “I don’t have any of the answers, Im. I wish I did.” Elene turned her attention to Kivan, a worried expression settling into her features. “What do you think of this…this bounty?”

Kivan glanced around the room, noting that no one seemed to be paying attention to them. “You’ve caught the attention of someone with influence,” he concluded. He tapped the hood resting on his shoulders. “Step lightly in towns. Conceal your face.”

“Sound advice. I will try to heed it.” Elene leaned forward, her face and tone softening. “Whatever it is, thank you, Kivan. You didn’t have to step in. Not in the woods, not just now in the alley…but you did. And I owe you my life.”

Belatedly, he realised that she was right – there was no sound reason for him to step in and help these girls. It was an almost unconscious decision on his part, that they needed protection and he was in a position to offer it. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered. He could not let more innocents fall to vile beasts wearing the mask of men.

_Perhaps he could be redeemed of his failure, after all. One day. By saving one soul at a time._

And yet, looking at these two, he probably has his work cut out for him.

Instead of responding to her words, he looked around the room. “What do your friends look like?”

“I don’t know. I only know that their names are Khalid and Jaheira.”

“That’s good enough. Come.”

He stood up. Elene looked at him in surprise for a moment but collected herself and started putting Tarnesh’s effects back into the satchel. Imoen picked up the leather-bound book and put it into her own pack, earning her a frown from Elene, which she just shrugged off.

“Hey, who knows, it could be useful to learn new things.”

“Be careful, Im. Magic can be dangerous. I’ve had cantrips go wrong before.”

He did not linger to hear the rest of it, simply noting that the girls likely had magic training. His focus had already shifted to the barkeep, none other than the owner of the Friendly Arm, Bentley Mirrorshade himself. He began making a beeline for the bar.

Bentley looked relaxed as he wiped a flask, fastidious even in such a mundane act. The gnome stood on a stool to be seen over the bar, but despite his stature, his bearing was that of a man twice his size. His beard was well-kept, his hair oiled and his eyes bright and cunning. Those eyes followed Kivan as he approached, but briefly flickering to the girls in curiosity before the gnome accosted the trio.

“Greetings, Master Elf and friends,” Bentley greeted him with a bright smile. “A little bird told me you had a bit of a nasty run-in with one of the guests. Terribly sorry for that bit of mess. I’ve told the lads to tighten up security a hundred times, but on the day I forget to remind them, this kind of thing happens.”

Kivan decided to cut to the chase before the gnome got into his chatting stride. “Bentley, we are seeking two of your guests. Their names are Khalid and Jaheira.”

Bentley raised his bushy eyebrows at that, a shrewd look in his eyes. “Are you, now?” Again, he glanced at the girls. “Well, that’s interesting. They are over in the corner there,” he raised the flask in his hand to the west corner of the room. “I do believe they have been waiting for someone as well.”

Elene craned her neck to get a better look at where he was pointing, spotting a man and a woman conversing on the sofa. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate it.”

Bentley chuckled at that. “Your companion has a sight better manners than you, Master Elf.”

Kivan grunted, letting the girls move ahead of him. “We will speak of rooms later.”

“Yes, yes of course. You know where to find me.”

As they drew closer, Kivan studied the strangers. There was no doubt in his mind that these were the two travellers Garth described earlier. A couple, both of half-elven descent, emanating a strong do-not-approach vibe just by sitting in their own little corner minding their own affairs. He suspected it had a lot to do with the woman’s stern bearing. She seemed to have more than a little elven blood in her based on her features, the angular features making her facial expression severe almost by default. Her hair was the colour of wheat, a stark contrast to the man’s dark auburn hair. The man had the tanned complexion of one who spent much time in harsh suns, his slightly crooked nose indicating scuffles in the past.

They were both armed and armoured, postures relaxed but alert. Indeed, they seemed to be waiting for someone, as they ceased conversing with each other when they spotted Elene and Imoen approach.

The half-elven man made the first move by getting to his feet, his face open and friendly. “Something about you is familiar, child,” he stammered as he spoke, looking at Elene. “Your manner reminds me of a sage I know, by the name of Gorion.”

“It is almost a slight on him, but I see it too,” the woman added, also vacating her seat. Unlike her companion’s warm greeting, her gaze was scrutinising, almost business-like.

“Jaheira, mind your manners.” The man admonished her. “This must be the child that Gorion wrote of so often.” He turned to the Elene and smiled. “Elene, I am Khalid and this is my wife, Jaheira.”

“We are old friends of your adopted father,” Jaheira explained.

Kivan glanced at Elene, finally connecting the dots on why her mannerisms were so staid and un-elf-like: she was adopted by a human sage. The realisation, however, opened up a whole slew of other questions.

Jaheira craned her neck to look across the room, her eyes pausing on Kivan before asking, “He is not with you? I must assume the worst. He would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment.”

“He...didn’t make it,” Elene admitted, her voice sounding brittle even to her own ears.

Khalid seemed to deflate somewhat at the confirmation before sharing a grim look with Jaheira. “We share your loss.” He stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on Elene’s shoulder. “He was dear to us.”

Steeling herself, Elene tried a smile. It felt ill-fitting on her face, given the circumstance. But with Khalid’s gesture, she felt certain she had found the people her father wished to entrust her safety with. “I appreciate your words, Khalid. Let me introduce my companions. This is my friend Imoen, she grew up with me in Candlekeep.” Imoen waved at the half-elven pair.

“And this,” Elene motioned to the ranger, “Is Kivan. He helped guide us here from the Lion’s Way.” She looked to him, her gaze unreadable. “We wouldn’t be here without his help.”

“Well,” Jaheira huffed. “It seems you have a long tale to tell. Perhaps it would it be better to have this conversation in a more private space? We have a room upstairs with space for all of us.”

Elene glanced at Imoen. The other girl nodded. She then turned to Kivan. He knew what she was about to ask, so he forestalled it by nodding as well. While the two adventurers seemed to be the people she was indeed looking for, thus completing his own escort duty, he also wanted some explanation for all the strange events of the day. It seemed all the scum in the region were converging on this poor girl today and he wanted to know why.

“Alright, Jaheira,” said Elene. “Lead the way.”

The five of them headed upstairs, adjourning to a spacious bedroom on the second floor. Imoen marvelled at the colourful drapery and upholstery within the room before settling down on one of the four plush chairs set up around a small table. Elene, Khalid and Jaheira followed suit while Kivan elected to remain standing by the wall. Jaheira graced him with yet another look of scrutiny but eventually diverted her attention back to Elene.

“Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own,” Jaheira began. “We received a letter from him a tenday ago, with a plea for us to journey to the Friendly Arm Inn. After all we have been through when we were adventuring together, there was no way we would refuse his summons.”

“You adventured with Gorion?” Imoen asked, surprised. “That must have been decades ago. How old are you?”

Amused, Khalid hid a smile behind his hand.

“Old enough, child,” Jaheira smiled thinly. “Our elven blood means we age more slowly compared to humans. Now back to the matter at hand,” Jaheira shot Imoen a pointed look, “we arrived here three days ago. A note was left with Bentley that Gorion would arrive with you in a day or two. So we waited.”

“We feared the worst when neither of you turned up,” Khalid added quietly.

“Well,” Elene fidgeted in her seat. “It is, as you said, a long tale.”

So, she told them the story, with Imoen interjecting here and there. It began with Gorion interrupting her in the middle of afternoon service at the Temple of Oghma, handing her a pouch of coins to prepare herself for travel. She had packed and purchased whatever she thought she needed, apprehensive about the whole affair until she had been attacked by a man while scrounging for healing salves at the priests’ quarters. She had dispatched him almost by accident and ran, shaken to the core, to Gorion.

Upon informing Gorion, he immediately led her out the gates of Candlekeep. Barely an hour outside of the gates, she described the ambush, the frightening armoured man with glowing yellow eyes and her own harrowing escape.

She then told of how Imoen found her in the undergrowth the next morning and their hopeless journey through the wilderness until they encountered Kivan by chance. She did not gloss over the strange encounter with the old man at the Coast Way – at this point in the recounting, Kivan noted the subtle look exchanged between husband and wife. But they let Elene continue without interruption.

Finally, Elene came to the part about Tarnesh. Khalid looked to Kivan with approval when she shared about his quick actions in despatching the man. She pulled out the bounty notice and placed in on the table for Khalid and Jaheira to peruse. Khalid’s benign features darkened as he read the notice out loud for his wife to hear. Jaheira frowned throughout, quietly absorbing and trying to make sense of it all.

Once Elene’s recounting ended, the room was silent. Questions seem to hang in the air like a shroud of gloom over the room’s occupants. And yet, no one there was equipped to answer any of them.

“Many things you have told us disturb me greatly. We had an inkling that you and Gorion were in danger but these hunters, the random attacks…” Jaheira trailed off. “Someone dangerous has great interest in you.”

“What do I do now, Jaheira?” asked Elene. “Imoen and I cannot go back to Candlekeep.”

For the first time that night, Jaheira cracked a small, warm smile. “There are many things you can do. But know that you need not do them alone. Gorion, he wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end.” Elene’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at that. “However, you are much older now, and the choice of your companions should be your own.”

“We could travel with you until you get settled, help you find your lot in life,” Khalid smiled nervously at the girls. Imoen returned his smile gratefully, even as she reached out to touch Elene’s arm. Elene just sat there looking bewildered.

“It would be a fitting last service to Gorion. But we must tell you that we plan to head to Nashkel soon. Khalid and I look into local concerns and there are rumours of strange things happening at the mines. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you.” Jaheira glanced at Elene’s plain sword, the implication clear.

Imoen perked up at that but Elene raised her hands, palms outward in a slightly defensive gesture. “But I don’t know the first thing about adventuring. I was a scribe in Candlekeep.” She pointed to herself in an incredulous manner. “I _scribed_.”

“Then you will have to learn,” Jaheira told her curtly. “In this world, those who survive are those who can defend themselves.”

“Don’t worry, Elene,” Khalid interjected. “Skill comes with time. I can teach you the way of the sword,” He offered, ever gracious. “What do you say?”

Elene swallowed and drew into herself for a few moments, thinking. In that small gesture, the girl reminded Jaheira painfully of Gorion. Her heart clenched at the thought and she swore she would seek justice for her old friend, one way or another.

Eventually, Elene glanced at Imoen. She did not really have to as Imoen’s preference was clear as day. Imoen’s eyes practically shone with eagerness. Meeting an elven ranger in the wild was exciting but embarking on a heroic quest to solve the iron shortage was positively thrilling.

“Your company would be welcome,” said Elene at last. She looked to both Khalid and Jaheira in turn. “It’s what Gorion would have wanted.” Then she shifted her gaze to Kivan, her tone hesitant. “Kivan, you’re welcome to join us, if you wish.”

His cloak rustled as he adjusted his stance against the wall. “I will think on it.”

“Good,” Jaheira nodded. “We are to meet the mayor of Nashkel, Berrun Ghastkill, as quickly as we are able to. Given this bounty notice floating about, we had best make our move at dawn…before more hunters turn up at Bentley’s door. Have you secured rooms for the night?”

The girls shook their heads.

“Very well. You can take this room, best to have your evening meal in here as well. Khalid, stay with them.” Jaheira stood up. “I will secure another room for myself and Khalid, and Kivan here.” Jaheira shot Kivan a meaningful look. “Do you mind coming with me?”

She stepped out of the room. Kivan followed her wordlessly, having some idea where this was headed.

Sure enough, as soon as they were several paces away from the room, Jaheira turned to accost him. “What were you doing in those woods? Those are bandit lands.”

Kivan glared at her. Elene and Imoen may have taken well to her bossiness, but he was having none of it. “What does it matter? I got them here.”

“Yes,” she exhaled, catching herself. “Yes, you have done well in getting them this far. I am grateful for that. Elene seems to trust you very much, despite just knowing you for several hours.”

“She trusts you despite knowing you for minutes,” he shot back coolly.

Jaheira smirked at that, amused. “That is also true. We will need to teach her about the dangers of trust, I think.” Then she became serious. “Since you prefer directness, I will be transparent with you. I wish to offer you a trade, elf. You’ve shown yourself to be a competent and honourable sort. Join us on our task in Nashkel, and we will help you with whatever quest you are on. You have my word.”

“You want me to help investigate a mine?” Kivan did not bother to hide the incredulity in his tone.

“Khalid and I believe that the iron shortage is somehow linked to the bandit infestation around these parts. The timing of both occurrences is too…convenient, somehow.” She paused, giving him a shrewd look. “We hear that you are a hunter of bandits around these parts. It is a noble, if thankless task – a quest after our own heart, as it were.”

Kivan stared at her. _How does she know?_

She crossed her arms. “What say you? Are you interested?”

“The girls are not equipped to go on this journey. Bringing them along is folly.” He blinked the moment the words came out from his mouth. His concern for them was becoming an increasing source of surprise for himself.

“What would you have me do? Closet them here? You have seen how ‘safe’ this guarded fortress is. As I said, they must learn - all children must grow up one day. It is the natural order of things.” Her gaze flickered to the room door. “But I will be honest. Having you in the group will grant us better odds.”

He studied her. “Can your word be trusted?”

Her brows furrowed. “Elene owes you her life. If she is anything like her late father, you can trust that she will do what she can to repay you. And I will be by her side for as long as she will have me.” She extended an arm to him. “Can we shake on it?”

_What a strange day_ , Kivan thought. Just this morning he was agonising over finding dependable allies on his hunt and here his answer was staring him in the face. Mysterious as the husband and wife team were, he sensed their good intention, as well as their evident experience. The whole situation was unfolding so rapidly, and yet, he had a strange foreboding, as though there was a higher power aligning all these events and the players on the board. And that he was merely a pawn getting sucked into a grand game.

_But did any of this matter as long as his hunt succeeded?_

He grasped her on the forearm, warrior to warrior. “I hope that we will work well together.”

Jaheira smiled grimly. “Time will tell. Now then, let us get our room and board.”


	4. The promising start

The next day dawned bright and clear, with barely a cloud in the sky.

At breakfast, Jaheira and Khalid went through possible lessons he could impart to Elene for the coming days. After Jaheira left to get additional rooms the night before, Khalid had asked questions of the training the girls had underwent in Candlekeep. They had to get a gauge of how much training both needed.

Imoen had decent training and practice with the bow due to her regular ‘friendly competition’ with several of the Keep guards. However, Elene admitted that she had only basic proficiency with the sword. Her focus had mostly been on intellectual pursuit – while she was well-read on a great number of subjects, she had little practical ability to follow through. She could, however, cast some basic spells and minor cantrips.

“Martial knowledge and woodcraft, we can teach,” Jaheira mulled it over as she put down her fork. “Magic is a bit beyond us. It would be a shame to let that ability wither from disuse.”

“Perhaps if we encounter a spellcaster along the way, she can find a teacher in them,” said Khalid.

“For certain they will need practice with woodcraft. The ranger can help teach a few things as well, if he continues with us for a good length of time. Bow craft for Imoen, certainly.” She paused, mulling it over. “I still don’t quite know what to make of him. We only have Bentley and Elene’s words to rely on.”

“He seems a decent sort.” Her husband smiled. “The girls are quite taken with him.”

She hummed. “Yet another problem we may face if we don’t nip that in the bud soon. Frankly, I just want to get started on our journey.”

“There, there, dear. The children were exhausted last night. Let them rest a bit more.”

“If they’re not down by seventh bell, I am knocking their door down.”

The children, as it was, were wide awake. Imoen was bustling about the room repacking things, including the floral-scented soap she pinched from the maid the night before. She was chattering excitedly about the things they would see, the places they would go, all accompanied by three “real life” adventurers.

Elene, however, was still on the bed – she laid there with her hands behind her head, staring up at the gaudy bed canopy. She was fully dressed and equipped to start the day, any wear and tear from her apparel mended with a cantrip the night before. And yet, she showed little sign of moving anywhere anytime soon.

Noticing this, Imoen paused her fussing and threw a nearby cushion at her friend. “Hey Lene, ya better get your butt out of there. Jaheira’s gonna come up here and rain hellfire on us soon. We’re pretty late.”

The cushion thwacked Elene on the thigh. She did not so much as twitch.

Imoen walked to Elene’s side and hovered there uncertainly. “Hey. Are you ok?”

The elf breathed deeply before speaking. “This morning when I woke up…for a few seconds, I thought that the past two days was just a bad dream.” She turned her head to look at Imoen. “This really is our life now, isn’t it?”

Imoen sighed at the melodrama. “Oh, you bufflehead. Scoot.”

Elene shifted to make space for Imoen to lay next to her, shoulder to shoulder.

“I know you don’t really feel like it right now but let’s try to think about all the plus sides. Alright? One, we’re still alive,” Imoen began ticking things off on her fingers, “Two, Gorion’s friends will take good care of us. Three, we’re gonna go out and do good things for a lot of people. Four, we’re gonna see and learn lotsa new and amazing things. Five, Kivan is really good looking….”

Elene laughed in spite of herself. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Those chiselled looks and smoulder-y eyes? Trust me, it’s relevant,” Imoen said sagely. “Shush, don’t interrupt me. And six, which is the most important thing.” She bumped her friend’s shoulder playfully. “We still have each other, ya big goof. I ain’t leaving you for anything in this Realm, you hear.”

Chuckling, Elene put an arm around her. “Ah Immy, what would I do without you?”

“Definitely not go far in life. Now get up you, I wanna see what’s for breakfast.”

After some sheepish smiles offered to Jaheira when they joined the table, the girls sat down and ordered their breakfast. Imoen did not bother with restraint, asking for everything she thought was interesting on the menu while Elene settled with safe breakfast-type food in sensible portions. Smiling slightly to himself, Khalid observed that the two friends were like heaven and earth in temperament.

“Since both of you have finally deigned to get out of bed,” Jaheira glared at both girls, earning twin chastised looks, “We can begin our trek as soon as you are done eating. First, we will head to Beregost to get supplies, then we continue south to Nashkel.”

Khalid cleared away the plates and cups to make space for the map Jaheira laid on the table. They were just over a day’s journey away from Beregost and three days’ journey to Nashkel from there. She went through the route in detail, explaining which path they should take and why. In the event the party became separated, they were to regroup at Nashkel Inn. Once that was agreed, Jaheira rolled up the map and handed it to Elene. The girl promised herself that she would learn those maps inside out to avoid getting lost again.

“Is Beregost a big town?” Imoen asked through a mouthful of food.

“It is the biggest settlement between Baldur’s Gate and Amn. Of main interest to us is their smithy – Taerom Fuiruim is a reputable blacksmith in the region. He may have weapons not affected by this iron rot.”

Imoen wrinkled her nose. “Can we shop for other things?”

“Like what?”

“What about a nice cloak? Or a raincoat? What’ll happen when it rains?”

Jaheira smiled thinly. “Water falls from the sky and you get wet.”

Imoen goggled at her in genuine surprise. “You _have_ a sense of humour!”

Elene snorted into her porridge. Jaheira was glaring again, they were off to a good start this morning.

“Of course we can go find other things you need,” Khalid was quick to step in and smooth things over. “As we rest along the way, you and I can practice sparring.” Khalid smiled at Elene. “Simple sword drills to start with.”

Elene wiped her mouth with a napkin and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Where is Kivan?”

“Outside. He will find us when it is time to leave,” said Jaheira.

“I am ready,” said Elene, putting her napkin down.

“Then let us move,” Jaheira was already getting up.

Imoen shoved the last remnant of food into her mouth and hurriedly hauled her pack over her shoulder to follow the rest of her party. She squinted as she stepped out the door. The sun was still low in the sky, but it was almost blinding compared to the dimness of the tavern’s interior. She waved as she walked down the stairs at the entrance of the inn - Kivan was already waiting for them at the bottom of the steps. The ranger fell into step behind Jaheira and Khalid as the party proceeded to leave the Friendly arm, with Elene and Imoen bringing the rear.

The trek south was uneventful in the first day. The girls struggled to keep at the pace being set by the rest of the group, but they soldiered on in the hopes that they would eventually get used to the walking. Imoen idly wondered why none of the adventures they read about in Candlekeep ever mentioned the amount of walking involved.

“Because it would seriously put people off it, clearly,” Elene chuckled in response.

“You think one day you could become an archmage and just…poof us to where we need to go?”

“Not sure if that’s how these things work, Im. And I’d be happy to just master my blisters at this point, never mind mastering magic.”

Imoen giggled. “Blister maestro. Ready to walk one thousand miles, rain or shine.”

“Good sales pitch for a pair of boots, actually.”

The two friends dissolved into tittering, earning them dark looks from Kivan and Jaheira who were further ahead. Kivan put a finger up to his lips before returning his gaze to the front. They quickly sobered up and tried to advance in silence.

By nightfall, the party chose a clearing shielded from the main road to set up camp. Kivan volunteered to hunt for game while Jaheira set off to collect herbs to season the meat with. Khalid taught the girls the rudiments of securing rest in the wilderness and got them to work preparing the camp. Once Kivan returned with two rabbits, the girls helped Jaheira with dinner. While the girls have no experience adventuring, they have had ample experience doing chores in the kitchen.

Once dinner was cleared up, Khalid took Elene aside to practice the moves he taught her as they walked in the day. She found Khalid to be a patient teacher, willing to go through the same form several times until she could execute it well. By the time she was done practicing, though, her arms felt like jelly.

“You are a quick study, my dear,” he patted her on the arm. “All you need is time to build strength.”

He neglected to mention that ultimately, experience would be the best teacher.

The following day rolled in with the clouds, the morning air cool against the skin. The five of them broke camp and proceeded on their way to Beregost. Along the route, about an hour away from the town, they discovered the remnants of what appeared to be a civilian caravan. The caravan wagon lay on its side, utterly wrecked. Even from a few dozen paces away, the cloying odour of decaying flesh was unmistakable, leaving little doubt as to what happened to the passengers.

As they drew closer, it was evident that the caravan had been attacked based on the arrows peppering the side of the wagon and the butchered corpse on the ground nearby the wreckage. Jaheira signalled for them to give the scene a wide berth. There was no telling if the perpetrators were still in the vicinity.

Kivan’s eyes narrowed as his keen eyes took in the sight, noting the arrow shafts embedded at the back of the wagon. He recognised the black fletching of the arrow – trademark handiwork of the Black Talons. Dread settled deep in his heart as he wondered if the group he had been tracking was responsible for this attack. Would he have been able to stop these meaningless deaths had he just persevered in his pursuit?

And yet…

He stole a glance at the girls walking a few paces behind him. If he had continued tracking those men, Elene and Imoen may well have perished, either to beasts in the wild or to the bounty hunter who lay in wait at the steps of the Friendly Arm Inn.

_Life is about those small, minute decisions that change everything._

Deheriana had said that, long ago, on what she felt life meant. He wondered at the divergent what-ifs had he decided differently at each fork in his life’s path, if he hadn’t decided to take them away from Shilmista after they’d wed. And here he was now, after a supposedly harmless decision to help two girls resulted in a pragmatic alliance which could deliver him vengeance. Life was indeed about those minute decisions.

“Hey, Kivan?”

The ranger jerked out of his melancholy to see Imoen walking next to him. Kivan flicked a glance over his shoulder and saw that Elene was still trailing them, even as she stole nervous looks at the grisly remains of the caravan.

“Is this what bandits do?” Imoen asked pensively.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why?”

He smothered the twitch of anger kindling in his chest. “Some men are no better than beasts.”

Imoen was silent for a while. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “Me and Lene, we hear about it, ya know. Even in Candlekeep. Hull and Fuller talking about bandits going crazy. Visitors coming in worried about attacks on the road. Then you told us you lost someone to bandits. But…” she wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess they’re just stories until you actually see it.”

Kivan hummed in assent. He had no comfort to give, only practical advice. “When we face them in battle, aim for what counts.”

“I…I’ll try.”

The group arrived in Beregost on that grim note. The town itself was bustling, the sound of trade and talk buzzing in the air even as ominous rainclouds continued to gather high above. Rows of houses were arranged in an orderly manner, with stores and inns nestled in between homes. The main streets intersected at the centre of the town, circling a large stone pillar which seemed to have some significance. Men and women, all human, went about their business, exchanging friendly greetings with one another as they crossed paths.

Elene stared with wide eyes as she took in the first proper town she had ever set foot in. The bustle would need some getting used to. Imoen, however, nudged her in the shoulder, the other girl already in high spirits at the sights and sounds before them.

“Would you look at that, Lene?”

The elf smiled and nodded. As she took a step forward, however, a hand pulled her back. She turned to see Jaheira handing her a plain-looking brown cloth.

“Put this on, child.”

Taking it hesitantly and spreading it out, Elene saw that it was in fact, a hood. Swallowing, she fastened the hood around her shoulders and pulled it up and forward, concealing her tawny hair and most of her face without obscuring vision. In the excitement of seeing a new place, she had completely forgotten about the danger she faced simply by walking through town in broad daylight.

“Thank you, Jaheira,” she said quietly.

“Remember to keep your head down,” Jaheira squeezed her shoulder as she brushed past. “Let us head to the smithy, get business out of the way first.”

The party headed to the east of town, moving past several inns and stalls along the way. Imoen was already taking note of the places she wished to visit, chattering to her friend about the things she would need to feel like a proper adventurer. Kivan trailed behind a few paces, listening but not commenting. Certainly, he wanted no part of the debate on the likelihood of there being pink raincoats being sold in the market square.

At the Thunderhammer smithy, the smell of coals and metal hung thick in the warm air surrounding the main forge. Taerom Fuiruim himself was busy hammering at a piece of hot metal, giving shape to what looked to be a fine sword. The man was practically a giant, broad and swarthy, almost every inch of him smudged with ash or soot of some form. Yet when he turned to greet his potential customers, he spoke with a soft, kindly voice more reminiscent of a Candlekeep tutor than a hardened blacksmith.

“Aye, Thunderhammer at your service,” said Taerom with a friendly smile. “What do ye wish done? We have a weapon of every kind here, ‘cept maybe them funny Eastern swords those Kara-Turans are fond of.”

Taerom indeed had an excellent selection of weapons and armour, including some of the magical variety, but his prices were steeper than the average smithy given the quality of his craft. That was the other thing the story books of Candlekeep did not prepare Elene and Imoen for - the tedium of selecting, then haggling for appropriate adventuring equipment. In the end, Elene settled with gauntlets and greaves of leather for better protection, Kivan replenished his stock of arrows while Imoen procured a set of light leather armour.

The rest of the day was spent exploring the town in search of adequate travel supplies, having quick lunch off light bites bought from food stalls in the market area. New and interesting as all this was, Elene hung back for most of it, letting Jaheira and Imoen do all the fronting. Her eyes took in every detail, noting the items on display and how they were displayed and how the vendors and patrons interacted with one another. All the while, keeping her head low and face out of sight. She was developing a healthy sense of paranoia thanks to the bounty on her head.

Sensing her discomfort, Khalid pulled her aside before they headed to the town’s trading post. “Perhaps it’s better if some of us waited at an inn while all this is getting sorted. What do you think?”

Relief flashed through Elene’s expression. “Yes…please. All these people… makes me nervous.”

Kivan appeared by her side, looking very done with shopping at that moment. “I will go with you.”

“Very well,” agreed Jaheira. “Imoen and I will conclude what we need. We can arrange for pick up tomorrow before we set out.” She nodded to Khalid. “Which inn should we meet at?”

“The Red Sheaf is around the corner. Passable if we keep a low profile.”

With that consensus, the party split in two, with Elene branching off with Khalid and Kivan to head toward the Red Sheaf.


	5. The friendly neighbourhood

“Keep your hood up,” Khalid told Elene as they walked. “The inn we’re headed for is the most affordable in Beregost, decent service…but can be a little rough around the edges.”

“What does that mean?” The girl wanted to know.

“It’s a dive,” Kivan grunted.

“Er, well. In not so many words, I suppose.”

Elene wrinkled her nose. “Why are we staying at a dive?”

“Plenty of people frequent such places, especially travellers. Easier for us to blend in,” answered Khalid.

They reached a building with signage showing a sheaf of red-coloured grain. From the outside, the Red Sheaf seemed like a sizeable establishment with plain white walls surrounded by a narrow veranda, all covered with brown roofing. Blue banisters framing the veranda added a pop of colour to the otherwise drab exterior. Despite it being late afternoon, there was ample noise coming from the inside the tavern within, indicating a boisterous clientele, if nothing else.

Khalid hesitated for a moment before leading them inside.

The lighting inside was dim, and the air smelled strongly of tobacco and stale beer. Despite the disquieting ambiance, the inn’s tavern was packed with people. In terms of clientele, the Red Sheaf differed from the rest of Beregost in that the establishment hosted a fair share of dwarves and halflings as opposed to being almost exclusively human. Many of the patrons were dressed for travel and nearly all of them looked downright unfriendly. Elene schooled her face to remain neutral, making a mental note to avoid any form of eye contact.

With a nod to his companions, Khalid headed for the bar. Kivan surreptitiously pulled Elene to walk close behind him, hiding her from view with his broader and taller frame. She kept in lockstep with her fellow elf, resisting the urge to pull her hood down further as she felt eyes in the room linger on her.

_Yes, make yourself look even more suspicious, why don’t you._

“Three rooms, if you please?” Khalid was already speaking to the innkeep, a ratty-looking man with wrinkles and scars warring to conquer his face.

Instead of hovering behind Khalid, Kivan led her to one of the tables near the stairwell heading up to the rooms. It seemed to be his port of choice at inns. He gestured for her to take the seat facing the stairwell, so that her back was turned to the rest of the room. He took the opposite seat and in his usual quiet manner, requested water and two ales from the tavern wench nearby. Elene pursed her lips slightly that the ranger felt it inappropriate to order booze for her. She was not a child, after all.

“I can take some ale, too,” she tried and failed to say without sounding petulant.

Kivan flicked her with an expressionless look. “Ale here is water with dregs.”

“Oh. Well.” She pulled her mug closer. “That’s alright then.”

Khalid joined them, his plate mail armour clanking as he settled down on a chair next to Kivan. Elene winced at the ominous creaking the wood made. Within a minute, the tavern wench returned with three mugs and set them none-too-gently on the table. Elene sipped tentatively on her water and tried to ignore the musty odour on the rim of the mug. So far, this place was a completely different experience from Candlekeep and the Friendly Arm - she couldn’t believe all three places were in the same plane, much less the same region.

“We have the rooms we need,” Khalid said, grimacing after he swallowed a mouthful of ale. “Ours will be next to each other, Elene, we can head up together later. Kivan, your room is on the first floor.” He slid a set of keys on the table towards the ranger, who took them without comment.

“Can we retire to our rooms soon?” Elene was already looking forward to soaking her feet in warm water.

“Perhaps better if we wait for the rest. I don’t think they will take that long,” said Khalid.

“Oh, Imoen can surprise you,” she muttered under her breath.

Khalid smiled apologetically but said nothing. Both her companions appeared relaxed, yet she could see that their eyes were subtly scanning over her shoulders for potential threats. Perhaps this was how one should behave in seedy, hostile taverns. This was all new territory for her, but she took note of certain things.

She was never one for sitting around taverns. In Candlekeep, her time was spent almost exclusively within the library. She never wanted for anything, all her needs had been looked after, and she could travel to any part of Faerun or beyond just by flipping open a tome or book. She could spend hours mulling over the intricacies of an astrolabe or the moral implications of civil war in Neverwinter. Over the years, her organised cataloguing of information, observation skills and resourcefulness made her a good assistant for many of the Readers.

When she informed Gorion that she wished to become a Reader herself one day, he had reacted with pleasure and surprisingly, some measure of concern. He had told her that a Reader’s lifestyle would make her unsuited for a life outside Candlekeep.

“Why would I want a life outside of Candlekeep?” she had asked in confusion.

Clearly, even then, Gorion guessed at what was coming. Now she was left to play catch up.

She tensed at the sound of raised voices from the table nearby. The occupants were playing cards but from the sound of it, the last round hadn’t ended in someone’s favour. Khalid leaned forward in his seat, closely following the happenings behind her. She almost turned around to look as well, but Kivan stopped her with a shake of his head.

Things kicked off when the men started shoving at each other, each accusing the other of cheating. Before anyone could react, one of them was shoved violently backwards, straight towards Elene’s back. She sensed him before he collided with her, so she quickly slid out of her chair and twisted out of harms’ way. The man crashed into her chair instead, before sprawling onto the floor on his front sputtering curses.

“You’ll pay for that, you bastard!” The man picked himself up and lunged for his assailant.

Elene watched in curious horror as the men started wailing at each other with punches. The innkeep and the tavern wenches were all shouting at the men to take the fight outside. As she stepped back, though, she realised that in the excitement, her hood had fallen back. Her eyes widened as her gaze swept through the room, checking to see who noticed.

“Pull it up,” Kivan hissed at her.

She hurriedly tugged up the cloth to cover her face but as she did, she saw a grizzled dwarf sat by the bar looking straight at her. After a beat, he stood up and began to approach, a hand resting on the haft of a large axe. Khalid spotted the threat immediately and moved to stand. The rest of the tavern had descended into a full-on brawl as the fight from the nearby table had spilled over to its neighbours for no apparent reason, causing an almighty furore. It was the perfect cover for a bounty hunter to make his move.

“You’re at the end of your rope, I’ll wager. Not that it’s anything personal, but I’m afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done,” the dwarf said as he drew close, hefting his axe in a two handed grip.

“Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you,” cried Elene.

“You’ve done nothing to anyone, as far as I know,” the dwarf shrugged. “Don’t matter one whit to me. A price is a price. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”

With that, he lunged forward with a swing. Khalid intercepted him with his own blade while Kivan sought room to draw his bow. The ranger cursed as he would have a difficult shot to make to avoid hitting Khalid. Elene cast about for moment before reaching over to the next table and tossing a full tankard of watered-down ale at an arc, which landed abruptly on the dwarf. The move was surprising enough to make their assailant step back, sputtering as the ale drenched him. Khalid capitalised on his surprise by slashing at the dwarf’s fingers grasping the axe. The dwarf roared as one of his fingers fell off, forcing him to adjust his hold on the weapon.

Elene proceeded to pick up another tankard to throw even as she stepped away from Kivan’s line of fire. Her sword was already in hand, but she surmised that she would just get in Khalid’s way – the chaos and tight space actually made a three-on-one fight disadvantageous. The best thing she could do was to keep the dwarf off balance, enough so that Khalid can move in for the kill.

It was easier said than done, however. Despite his injury, the dwarf still packed a punch. In quick succession, Khalid took a denting blow to his chest plate and a vicious punch to the face, sending him reeling back into a table. Kivan quickly loosed an arrow which lodged itself in the dwarf’s collarbone. Elene ducked in and slashed at his unprotected underarm when he reflexively raised a hand to staunch the arrow wound. Bleeding from three wounds now, the dwarf moved to engage her instead of advancing on Khalid.

_Great plan, now what?_

The dwarf made a one-handed swing at her head, making her duck and sidestep to keep out of range. With that movement, she bumped into another tavern brawler, a gangly local man. Thinking himself attacked, he shoulder-checked her away, right back into the path of the now-grinning dwarf.

A quick slash sliced through her front, the layer of leather she wore over her clothes barely enough to protect her from the strike. Gasping from the sudden pain, she reeled backward, hand finding purchase on a table behind her. Warmth began spreading across her front. She shakily raised her sword as the dwarf moved to follow-up on the slash.

“Get back!”

There was no trace of stammer in Khalid’s words as he rained blows with his swords on the dwarf, forcing his foe into the defensive. In adjusting his stance, the dwarf slipped on wet patch on the floor, making him stumble. Khalid swiftly kicked his knee out from under him and planted his sword through the dwarf’s neck when he landed on the floor. Just as abruptly as it started, the fight was over.

Khalid stepped away, breathing heavily. He favoured his charge with a concerned look. Elene tugged at her hood, which had come loose again in the fighting. She would need a better put-together disguise to continue breathing at this rate.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He winced, wiping blood from his mouth. “Jaheira can take a look later. Are _you_ alright?”

She pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly feeling faint realising how soaked her attire was with blood. Her own blood. Despite the queasiness, she found herself nodding.

“We can’t stay here,” Kivan was already stripping the dwarf of his belt pouch and satchel. Suddenly they realised that the brawling was simmering down, and it was a matter of time before patrons realised there was a corpse cooling on the floorboards. Kivan tossed Khalid his set of keys and pulled Elene with him to head for the exit. Khalid marched to the bar to return the room keys – they were definitely not staying the night.

Once they were outside, Kivan undid his cloak and wrapped it around Elene to hide the blood - it would attract too much attention. He kept an arm tightly around her as they walked. Within a dozen paces or so, Khalid caught up with them, still looking winded from the fight. They headed south, towards an inn called the Jovial Juggler. A pricier place to put one’s feet up but less likely to run into the types who chased bounties for a living. For this inn, Khalid entered alone to secure the rooms.

“How is it?” Kivan asked as they waited for the half-elf’s all-clear.

“Hurting.” Elene grimaced, mulling it over. “But I think I’ll live.”

“Keep pressure on it.”

Swallowing, she nodded.

Within minutes, Khalid opened the tavern door for them, room keys already in hand. They went straight up to the rooms without nary a glance at the interior of the tavern or the patrons in it. The ascent to the rooms on the second floor was mercifully uneventful.

Upon depositing Elene into one of their rooms, Khalid grasped Kivan by the shoulder. “I’m going to find Jaheira. Can you watch her?”

Kivan glanced at the girl in question, then nodded. Khalid slipped out of the room without another word.

Kivan set about lighting all the lamps in the room, letting warm light envelop the space. Elene set herself on the couch, looking around and trying her best not to get blood all over the upholstery. The room was bigger and finer than the one they had stayed in at the Friendly Arm Inn, all tasteful wall coverings and colour-coordinated furnishings. She briefly wondered if they could afford three of such rooms. Wrapping the cloak tighter around herself, she gave Kivan an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry I got blood all over your cloak.”

Kivan waved her off. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

He dumped the dead dwarf’s satchel onto the plush carpet. Elene watched as he started to go through the contents, wondering if this was going to be a normal activity for them, rifling through the belongings of dead bounty hunters. Like the previous hunter, this one did not carry many worldly possessions – some coin, travel rations, a pipe with tobacco and a rolled-up parchment. Kivan shot her a grim look as he unfurled the parchment.

“What does it say?” Elene asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Bounty notice. Three hundred gold.” Kivan tossed the parchment onto the table between them. She stared at it but made no move to pick it up. Seemed like the same notice that Tarnesh had in both make and content. They were right to be wary coming into Beregost.

“You…are very efficient at that.”

Kivan glanced at her. “At what?”

She waved her hand vaguely. “The checking valuables from dead people thing.”

He paused. He hadn’t realised that. Months of hunting bandits and picking them clean after night ambushes made him inured to the act. But he wasn’t about to admit that to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a child. Instead, he strode to the corner of the room, fetching a basin with a jug of water.

She observed him filling the basin with water and soaking a pristine decorative cloth from one of the tables in it. After a moment, he held the wet cloth in his hand and looked at her expectantly.

“We need to clean the wound,” he told her.

She stared at him. “With that?”

The answering look that he gave her was unimpressed, to say the least.

Hesitantly, she lowered the cloak onto the floor. Looking down at her own torso, the axe wound was bleeding but at a slower rate. If she hadn’t pivoted on her heel at the last second, the blow would have been more ruinous. Fortunate that what she lacked for in skill, she made up for with speed and raw survival instinct. She gritted her teeth, realising that it would not be enough to save her at each turn. She could not keep relying on others to come to her rescue.

As her fingers hovered over the clasps of her gambeson, however, she paused. Her companion was already kneeling in front of her, critically appraising the wound. As silly as it was, in that moment she suddenly felt self-conscious. Should she really be undressing in front of a man she’d known for barely a day?

“Uh, should we wait for Jaheira?”

Kivan’s eyes flicked up to hers, his amber eyes almost aflame in the warm light. Up close, the markings on his face made him look even more fearsome, especially when coupled with his serious expression. “And let it pool with blood while we wait?”

Huffing, she took off the outer layer of her garb, cringing as cloth rubbed against the raw wound. His knees made a slight popping sound as he rose to sit with her on the couch. The following ten minutes then went by in silence. Kivan was no healer but he had dressed enough wounds to know what he was doing. Elene, for the most part, let go of her childish embarrassment and trusted him to do what was necessary. After all, he had demonstrated zero interest in her femaleness from the very beginning and she doubted that would ever change. The water grew redder with each dip of cloth into the basin. But at least now, the wound was cleaned enough for proper inspection.

“It’s not too bad,” he concluded, pressing the no longer pristine cloth into her hand. “Keep pressure on it.”

“Thank you,” she replied quietly and did as she was told.

They sat in silence for a stretch, gazing out the window. Big globs of rainwater were steadily pattering against the glass. The cloudy skies had finally delivered on the promise of rain while she was being tended to.

Kivan studied her after a long moment. “You did well in that fight.”

She spluttered a short laugh in surprise. “I’m sorry, were we in the same fight?”

“You observed. Reacted quickly, sensibly. Used the tools around you.” He jerked his shoulder, a half-shrug. “Unlucky with the outcome.”

“Well. Gorion would say, the smart ones make their own luck,” she grumbled, remembering a game of chess she had played with her father. She had been so fixated on winning the game, she had not noticed the rook he positioned until it was too late. It was a valuable lesson on awareness, and how the greatest danger is not always the most obvious.

Kivan hummed noncommittally. “You really don’t know why hunters are after you?”

“No,” she sighed. “Hopefully disappearing into a mine would throw them off.”

He favoured her with a shrewd look. “Is that why you agreed to go with the _Cha'Tel'Quessir_?”

She frowned at the use of the elven term for her would-be guardians’ race, the word sounding foreign to her when it shouldn’t be. “What choice do I have?” Unconsciously, she hunched over, drawing further into herself. “I wouldn’t survive a day on my own.”

Kivan leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. “Then get better.”

Flummoxed, she glanced at him, wondering how she could achieve that in a short time. He, Jaheira and Khalid seemed to have everything figured out while she was still flailing about trying to learn how the real world functioned. Imoen was better suited to the Life than she was.

Before she could say anything, however, she heard footsteps coming to a halt outside their door. She tensed and whipped her eyes to the door while Kivan stood up. Fortunately, it was Jaheira who stepped into the room, dripping water as she walked, wet hair plastered onto her face. Despite her waterlogged appearance, she still managed to project a formidable presence.

“How bad is it?” the druid demanded immediately.

Imoen and Khalid filed in after her, the man closing the door behind him once they were all inside. They were soaked and breathless after what must have been a dash through the rain.

“I’m alright,” Elene waved the cloth-turned-gauze in her hand to demonstrate.

Kivan made way for Jaheira to perch on the couch, then joined Khalid and Imoen near the door. The three of them began a hushed conversation while the druid cast healing spells to seal Elene’s wounds. Jaheira’s hands were clinical yet gentle. Despite how much the strike had hurt, it would barely leave a scar thanks to her quick work.

In the end, it was decided that Jaheira would stay with the girls while Khalid and Kivan would room together for that night. Jaheira and Kivan then left to complete the procurement of supplies. Whatever happened, they had to leave Beregost at first light the next day. As dangerous as the roads were, they were now safer for the group for as long as the bounty notices were still being distributed.

As Elene lay in bed that night, she thought of the last moments of the dwarf bounty hunter, of his blood slowly spreading through the floorboards. She thought of how easily it could have been her on the floor instead of him. From now on, she must learn to kill to survive.

Better their blood than hers.


	6. The lesson applied

Kivan paused. He tilted his head, listening. After a while, he shook his head.

“You’re breathing too loud.”

“Aww codswallop!”

Imoen materialised from the shadows of a nearby tree, looking quite put out at being discovered so quickly. For someone who favoured bright magenta clothing, she was surprisingly decent at stealth – she was all but invisible once she’d pulled the shadows to conceal herself.

“You’re cheating with those elf ears of yours, aren’t ya?” she pouted at him.

“I’d never do anything of the sort,” he answered, but his almost-smile contradicted his statement. “Now let’s find your friend.”

Imoen grinned as she clapped her hands together. “This’ll be fun.”

The four days to Nashkel were the most enjoyable days for Imoen and Elene since they left Candlekeep. Minor skirmishes with an ogrillon, some gibberlings and hobgoblins aside, there wasn’t that much of action along the way. As a result, they managed to get to know their traveling companions better, learned some useful new skills and most important of all, no one got hurt.

Well, Khalid’s lessons did hurt once he started making Elene do practical sessions, namely sparring with sticks. They went over drills and tactics for hours in the night, resting only when Jaheira called time to retire for the night. Sometimes Kivan even gave pointers as he watched from his perch at the edge of the camp. She learned some universal sword tactics which could be repurposed to suit her, improvising moves which relied more on dexterity than strength. Imoen found the whole thing boring but it heartened her that Elene was really throwing herself into learning how to fight – seems she had finally come to terms with their new life.

Jaheira taught them foraging, pointing out herbs and plants which can be useful to both help and hinder, depending on the need. For the first time, Elene got to actually see the reagents she used to read in the alchemy books Parda used to make her read. If she could get her hands on an alchemy kit, she could likely brew up some useful things with what they could forage from the wild.

Along the way as they walked, Kivan gave the girls practical tips for stealth, in spite of his reticent nature. He was even sporting enough to ‘seek’ them as they tried out their new skills, grunting short pointers on where they went wrong or how they could improve. Elene also sought out rudimentary teaching on trap-setting using rope and wires. No doubt the skills would come in handy especially when they headed into the mines.

Elene didn’t think too deeply about what she had signed up for at the Friendly Arm. She’d needed sanctuary, and Khalid and Jaheira had offered both their protection and guidance freely. The closer they were to Nashkel, however, the more she wondered about what they would be facing.

Imoen had no such reservations. She was brimming with good cheer the whole way, feeling like the group dynamic had settled into a good rhythm over the days: the druid from Tethyr, the warrior from Calimshan, the ranger from Shilmista and the two rookies from Candlekeep.

On a warm Mirtul evening, the party crested a hill which overlooked the Amnian border town of Nashkel. Nashkel was small – more village than town, that much was clear the moment the place came into proper view. Small homesteads dotted the landscape, a grand Temple of Helm in the middle of everything. The Unseeing Eye carved atop the temple could be seen from almost a mile away. It seemed like a pleasant place to retire to.

“It’s nearly sunset – best we try to catch Berrun at his house rather than his office,” advised Jaheira.

They arrived in town just behind a platoon of soldiers clad in deep red brigandines made of hard leather and helmets with plumes of red. The livery was that of Amn, Elene remembered from her lessons. Amn was all about reds and golds and other obvious trappings of wealth, as befitting the populace of the mercantile region. Despite Nashkel being a border town, it did not make much sense for there to be so many Amnian soldiers garrisoned here. That sense of unease was magnified when a soldier halted them upon crossing the bridge leading into the centre of town.

“Identify yourselves,” the man said, a rough undertone in his voice.

“I am Jaheira,” the druid nodded curtly at the man. “We hear that this is a troubled region of late. Our aim is to meet with Berrun Ghastkill to put ourselves at his disposal during our stay here.”

The man gave the group an impassive once-over. Elene was glad that he didn’t look too closely at her. “Mercenaries, huh. As long as you’re here to solve problems and not cause them, you’re welcome. Tensions run high right now. On your way.”

With that, he nodded and went on his way. The group glanced at each other before heading to the home of Berrun Ghastkill. It was quite a walk from the centre of town, past the Temple and the garrison, beyond a cluster of small homesteads dotting the town. Eventually Jaheira led them to a quaint wooden house surrounded by an idyllic garden. A grey-haired half-elven man was seated at the veranda of the house, keen eyes appraising the newcomers.

“I recognize Jaheira in your group, so you must be the adventurers I was expecting.” The half-elf stood up and stepped closer. “I am Berrun Ghastkill, mayor of Nashkel, and I am happy to welcome you.” He clasped Jaheira on the forearm and gave her a grim look. “I am sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”

Jaheira introduced the group quickly but got straight down to business. “Tell me Berrun. What exactly is the problem here?”

Berrun breathed out a laugh. “I can’t believe you haven’t guessed. You’ve heard of the iron shortage? Well, Nashkel is in the thick of it. Our mine is all but shut down because the workers continually go missing, and what ore we get is tainted somehow. I would send in the town guards, but we need them to protect our citizens from the bandits that raid our caravans. We need someone to go and find out what is wrong in the mines southeast of town.”

“We will do what we can,” the druid assured him, glancing at Elene as she said so. “If you have need of us, we will be at the inn for tonight. Tomorrow morning, we shall head for the mines.”

“Thank you. You will be the toast of the town if you can help.” Berrun clapped Khalid on the shoulder, earning him a timid smile. “It is good to see both of you. Be safe.”

With that, the group headed off in silence, back the way they came to the Nashkel Inn – appropriately named as it also happens to be the only inn in town. On their way, they kept seeing soldiers moving around in what seemed to be coordinated patrols. At least the conversation with Berrun had illuminated why the military was out in numbers. The bandit problem had evidently reached this far south.

The Nashkel Inn was as nondescript as one would expect, a wide single storey brick building with a tall chimney merrily blowing smoke into the air. Elene tied a scarf around her head, concealing the bottom half of her face, before slipping her hood back on. Bordering on paranoid, perhaps, but she was not going to take any risk this time around.

Foot traffic outside did not translate to inn occupancy. That was obvious the moment they entered the inn and saw only two patrons inside despite it being the expected hour for dinner. Both patrons, a man and a woman, glanced over as the group entered but proceeded to ignore the newcomers. So far so good. The innkeeper, a reedy sort of chap with thinning hair, nodded to them warily as they entered. He raised a hand, signalling for a barmaid to tend to them.

Three rooms secured and a quick meal later, the group sat in companionable silence with the sound of crackling fire in the background. The inn’s customers hadn’t increased in numbers since they’d entered, the two remaining patrons still sat at the bar and the innkeeper still sat in the corner minding his own affairs.

“Something is wrong here,” Jaheira said in a low tone, nursing her cheap wine. “Granted, this is a border town, but the military presence here goes beyond protection from bandits. Why were these soldiers really not sent to deal with the mines?”

Khalid’s brows furrowed. “I may be mistaken, but this almost looks like a military muster.”

Elene stared at him. “Muster? Isn’t that preparation for war?”

“Er, not necessarily. Many times, muster happens then you have tensions between two nations.” Khalid looked at his hands as he spoke, as if recalling from experience. “You keep the vanguard in reserve at the borders.”

“You wouldn’t be sending vanguards into mines,” Elene realised.

“Wait, but who are they mustering for?” Imoen wanted to know. “Who are they gonna fight?”

“I think,” Jaheira glanced around, “A few of us should test the local flavours at this town’s watering hole. Try to find out more about the situation.” She gave Elene a look. “Some of us can sit this one out if they wish.”

Elene almost sagged with relief. She was not looking forward to another tavern visit.

“Can I come? I wanna go with you,” Imoen piped up excitedly. “Hey Lene, take my pack to the room with you. I’ll bring ya something nice when I get back.”

Jaheira and Khalid exchanged a look. Khalid was about to say something but Kivan intercepted him.

“I’ll stay.”

Jaheira nodded, satisfied with the arrangement. It seemed that traveling with the elf for some days has earned him a measure of trust with her. After a few more minutes of small talk and planning for the next morning, Jaheira, Khalid and Imoen set off for the Belching Dragon Tavern, leaving Elene and Kivan at the table to finish up their drinks.

“You really don’t want to go with them?” Elene wondered.

“Chatting up drunks is not something I find enjoyable,” he answered.

She tilted her head. “What _do_ you find enjoyable?”

He paused at that, flicking his gaze up to fix an appraising look on her. If the question had come from Jaheira, he would have taken that as a dig at his dourness. Coming from Elene, however, he recognised the question for simple curiosity. He supposed that she really did not know much of anything about him – even though they have been traveling together for a week.

“I only look forward to one thing,” he said, lowering his eyes to his drink. “Until then, joy is a luxury.”

“And what is that?”

He breathed deeply. “Killing a half-ogre named Tazok.”

She stopped swirling the wine in her glass. “Is this the person who killed your loved one?”

“Yes.”

“If I may ask…what happened?”

The fire crackled in the background. Kivan studied the tankard in his hand as he contemplated how much he wished to share. It was a dark story to unburden on a young soul. Even so, she watched him patiently, nothing but sincerity in her features. He blamed the ale for loosening his lips.

“Two years ago, my wife and I left our home in Shilmista to travel the Realms,” he began, “We headed north, then west, ventured as far as the Greenfields. There, we were captured in the night by brigands. They were led by Tazok.”

With a practiced hand, he undid the clasp of his left gauntlet, scuffed on the inner side where his bow usually rested. He rested his ungloved hand on the table, palm up. No words were needed – the angry scars lacing his wrist and the slightly misshapen angles of his fingers said enough.

“They were not gentle to prisoners,” he scoffed. “I got off lucky compared to Deheriana. What they did to her…” he trailed off, shaking his head. Anguish, rage and self-loathing engulfed him in that moment. It has been two years, but the unseen wounds from what Tazok did continued to bleed and fester, even as the physical wounds healed. He would never be free for as long as the beast lived. “I have been hunting him since.”

Elene stared at his hand in mute horror. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the scar tissue on his wrist. After a few moments, she withdrew her hand, collecting herself. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, Kivan.” When she raised her eyes to meet his, a spark of conviction burned in them. “This half-ogre, he’s still out there? With the bandits causing all the mess?”

“I tracked him to the Coast Way. From the bandits I interrogated, he seems to lead them.”

“Was that what you were doing when we met you? Finding him?”

He smiled, a grim look. “Hunting.”

She nodded slowly even as her eyes flicked back to his scarred hand, as if making her mind up about something. “If I can help you stop him, I will. We can’t let them keep hurting people.”

He leaned back, feeling strangely heartened by her words. “Then we will see it through. Until we do, my soul will ache for my lost Deheriana.”

“I’m sorry for dredging up those memories,” she murmured. “All those books in Candlekeep didn’t prepare me for how cruel Fate can be.” The image of Gorion being cut down in the dark continued to haunt her, in both her waking hours and her dreams. Even so, it could not possibly compare to what Kivan must have witnessed in the hands of his captors.

“Nothing can prepare you for it.” He picked up his discarded gauntlet. “I wish to retire. You should as well.”

Getting accustomed to abrupt ends to conversations with Kivan, Elene nodded and stood, drawing her hood as she did. Together, they walked past the bar, off to the rooms. Their rooms were situated two doors away from each other, with Khalid and Jaheira’s room in between them, Kivan’s right at the end of the hall. She bade him good night as she entered her room, locking the door behind her. Imoen would just have to knock when she came back.

With the lamp lit, Elene could see that a basin was already set up. She gratefully yanked off her boots and tossed her gauntlets onto the bedside table. The double bed creaked inauspiciously as she sat on the thin mattress.

Methodically, she took off her outer garments and laid them out on the bed. She thought back to the shapeless robes she wore as an acolyte and sighed wistfully. If only she had devoted the hours to become a proper mage as Gorion had suggested in her early years of study. She could be walking around in comfortable robes and slinging powerful magic right now, instead of being encased in leather and fumbling around with a sword and dagger.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” she muttered to herself.

The water was cool as she washed her hands and face. Wiping her face, she looked up at the mirror above the basin and studied the reflection staring back at her. Gone was the smooth, porcelain doll complexion cultivated from living in a library. Her nose was pinkish while parts of her skin were peeling slightly from the sun. Phlydia would weep if she saw the current state of her hair, which somehow managed to appear both matted and frizzled out. She had never been a particularly vain person, but the sight saddened her. By the end of the year, a completely different person would be staring back at her.

She studied her right hand, calluses beginning to form on her fingers from daily swordplay. Tilting her hand slightly, she contrasted those with the raised skin on her index finger where she used to rest the quill while scribing. The scribe evolving into a fighter. She sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that week - a weighty, troubled sound. Despite what she had said to Kivan, the thought of trading in violence to achieve her means was deeply unsettling.

_Reminds me of that quote Parda always bandied about. He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you._

A knock sounded at the door, startling her from her brooding. She turned her head in surprise. Setting down her washcloth, she strode the few paces to reach the door, wondering why Imoen was back so soon.

Except when she pulled the door ajar upon unlocking it, a stranger stood there. A blonde woman in mail shirt and a nasty scar which pulled at her smile, making it look crooked. That was about all Elene could take note of when the woman shoved the door open and shouldered straight into her, forcing her way into the room. Once she was inside, she closed the door with quick footwork.

Elene moved, her entire being shocked into fight or flight mode. In this case, flight was no longer an option. She lunged for her sword belt, pulling her weapon free. Her eyes flicked to the dagger also clipped onto the belt and decided to keep the belt in hand as an improvised offhand. Suddenly all the sword drills she was made to run as a child came back to her – despite what she’d told Khalid, she had been taught swordplay for many years but she never took it up with any passion before Gorion died. She hoped that necessity would make up for the passion for fighting that she lacked before.

“Just fancy my luck seeing you stroll in here, bold as day,” said the woman, her chuckle throaty as she unhooked the mace attached to her belt loop. “I expected a hunt and a chase from the description, but who am I to argue with easy coin? May the Lord of Shadows guide you swiftly to your Death.”

Gathering resolve, Elene raised her sword and moved in for a messy close quarter fight.


	7. The awakening

The room was a waste of money, Kivan realised belatedly as he sat by the window. The small space was spartan, stifling. He would have been better off resting under the stars, accompanied by the sounds of swaying leaves in the night. It wasn’t as if he needed that many hours of reverie anyway.

But then the leaves and stars wouldn’t be able to shed light on what the trouble was in this town or the region surrounding it, he supposed. Perhaps that was the problem with his initial approach. Seeking vermin in the vast wilderness was a monumental undertaking to begin with, and he had chosen to do so without seeking help for so long. These new allies, as troublesome as they can be on some days, could be what tips the balance in the hunt.

He believed Elene when she said she would help him. It seems Jaheira had read the girl right, after all.

Light footsteps halted outside his door. He was on his feet before the knock even sounded. Hunting knife in hand but hidden, he carefully inched his door open. Elene gazed up at him through the gap, her face white as sheet. Blood adorned her front, with a stray line of red on her cheek, overall, far too much to be her own. He sheathed his knife and immediately pulled her inside.

“What happened?” he demanded to know, shutting the door behind them.

“A hunter,” she answered mechanically. “She’s dead…in my room. Her body…”

He cursed under his breath. Swiftly, he guided her by the shoulder to sit on the bed. “Are you hurt?”

“I…don’t think so. Bruises, maybe.” She grasped his arm. “Kivan, what do we do about the body?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” He straightened, depositing her grasping hand onto her lap. Thinking quickly, he ran a hand distractedly through his unbound dark hair. “Stay here. I am locking this room from the outside. I’ll be back.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He left her secure in his room while he went to investigate. Her door was unlocked so he slipped in quietly. Inside was…a terrific mess. He knew an arterial spray when he saw one – blood spatter was on the bedsheets and more of it was pooling on the floor where the body lay. Several items lay strewn across the floor as well, likely the girl using objects as projectiles again. That tactic seems to serve her well so far.

Gingerly, he crouched next to the hunter’s corpse. It was a human woman, lightly armoured with a pendant, shaped like a mask, around what was left of her neck. After delivering the fatal cut, Elene appeared to have gone at her a few more times with a dagger, which she then abandoned in the pool of blood. He frowned, troubled by what he saw. It was a vicious onslaught; one he would not have associated with the girl.

He removed the hunter’s coin purse and the small pouch attached to her belt, which contained a folded fresh parchment. Unfolding it, his frown deepened when he was greeted with Elene’s likeness once again. This time, the notice stated that ‘the subject’ was likely to have traveling companions and that the bounty price had gone up to 680 gold. He shook his head in disbelief. A veritable king’s ransom for someone so innocuous.

Looking around, he started collecting Elene and Imoen’s personal effects for packing. It was unlikely that they would want to stay on – too much risk of this hunter having associates nearby, especially at that sort of bounty price. They needed to be off as soon as possible. Once all the necessary items were in hand, he returned swiftly to his room.

The girl had moved to the chair when he entered, staring at her hands. She had washed up but was still clad in the bloody tunic. Some colour had returned to her cheeks, he noted, as she turned to look at him expectantly.

“Get dressed and be ready to head out,” he told her.

Her eyes widened at that. “What about the others?”

“We will sort that later.” He dropped her pack in front of her. “Now, we need to get you out of here.”

She jerked into movement, rustling through her pack for something to conceal the state of her current attire. As she pulled on a jerkin, he instructed her to head to the Temple of Helm in the cover of shadows and wait within the temple’s halls for him to collect her.

“That is the safest place you in this town. Can’t risk showing your face at another tavern. Ready?” he asked after she fastened her sword belt.

She exhaled shakily, drawing her hood up. “Let’s go.”

And they moved. Elene left the inn surreptitiously while Kivan pulled the innkeeper aside.

“A woman tried to rob my friend in her room. One of _your_ rooms. Know anything about that?” he growled at the man.

“What?” the man sputtered. “I know nothing! What are you on about?”

“Go see for yourself.”

Kivan hauled the man with him as he walked back to Elene’s room. The man paled significantly when he crossed the room’s threshold and caught the full sight of the scene.

“She barged in and attacked without warning. Who was she?” the elf pointed at the corpse.

The innkeeper peered at the face, then shuddered at the sight. “This woman…she was having ale in the taproom just now, same as you lot. New face, only just got in last night.”

Kivan did a double take, looking more closely at the hunter. He was right – this woman was sat at the bar throughout their meal. She must have been listening to their conversation the entire time, waiting for the right time to strike.

“I don’t know anything else about her, I swear!”

“We’re leaving,” the ranger shifted on his feet abruptly. “Keep the gold.”

With that, he made his way to the tavern, located between the Temple of Helm and the crop-growing homesteads dotting the town. It was a sizeable place, the preferred venue to spend the evening for locals, judging from the noise assaulting his ears as he approached. Soldiers loitered outside, sizing him up with suspicion. Likely they did not see many elves around these parts unless you counted the mayor himself.

Ignoring them, he entered the tavern unmolested. It was not difficult to spot bright magenta clothing despite the crowd. Jaheira noticed him first, the woman’s sharp eyes continually scanning the room even as Imoen plied a drunk local for information. The druid tensed in her seat as she caught his eye. Kivan jerked his head sharply towards the exit and left. He did not have to wait long outside before his three traveling companions joined him in the cool evening air.

“What’s wrong? Where is the girl?” asked Jaheira, as straight-to-the-point as always.

“We need to head out. Explanations later,” Kivan headed her off before she could ask another question. “Wait at the bridge south of Berrun’s home. We’ll join shortly.”

Jaheira observed his grim expression and decided not to argue. “Very well. I look forward to this explanation of yours.”

Elene had seated herself at one corner of the pews within the Temple of Helm when he arrived to collect her. With her head lowered so, one could easily mistake her for a humble supplicant. In fact, she was staring her hands, as if scrutinising a mark there that only she could see. She looked up sharply at his approach but sighed in relief when recognition flickered in her eyes.

“Oh, thank Oghma,” she breathed out as she stood. “The others?”

“Close by. Come.”

The party regrouped at the bridge to the south of Nashkel and left the town in the cover of night, walking as briskly as they could to dissuade pursuers. As they walked, Elene’s recounting of the attack was met with concern and terse questions, but Kivan’s exposition on the bounty notice netted shocked silence from the party for a while.

“680 gold? Such a bounty is common for murderers, not for children on the run,” Jaheira remarked stormily. “There is no telling how many vultures will be lurking to benefit from this. We can trust no one.”

“It’s a good thing we’re going into the mines. Maybe the interest will fade off by the time we’re done,” Elene said hopefully.

The druid shook her head. “At that price, the only deterrent would be to build a reputation of strength.”

“Yeah, make them think twice about going after you,” said Imoen. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be on your own now. I’m sorry, Lene, I shoulda been with you.”

“It’s alright, Im,” the elf patted her on the shoulder. “I managed to deal with her.”

She looked over to Kivan. He returned her gaze but said nothing. In sharing what had happened, she had glossed over how she ended the hunter’s life and he neglected to mention the state of the hunter’s corpse. She wondered what he thought of it, but she was too afraid to ask. It was the first time in her life that she had consciously sought to kill someone with her own hands. Even though self-preservation necessitated it, the sheer violence of what she had done and the efficiency with which she carried it out made her feel ill.

They made camp once Jaheira decided that they had put a safe enough distance with Nashkel. Elene tried to volunteer for watch duty, knowing the futility of sleep that night. However, a shake of the head from Khalid put paid to that and she settled into her bedroll for what she expected to be a long night. Her thoughts kept going back to the spray of blood as she plunged her blade into the hunter’s neck, and how she kept going even though there was no chance of the woman surviving the blow. At that point, she barely felt in control of herself, and yet she knew precisely what she was doing.

That was the last of her thoughts as she drifted into a fitful reverie.

In her dream, she saw Gorion again, except this time he was as dead in the dreamscape as he was in the waking world. His phantom gestured towards the woods outside Candlekeep – the path was pitch black, and yet she felt a tug deep within her soul, an urge to venture forth and see what lay in store for her there. Turning away from the man she would always call her father, she took the first step toward the darkened woods, steadfast in her new direction.

A whisper followed as she strode away, though, something vestigial and sinister that she recognised, but had never yet heard, “You will learn.”

She jerked awake in the cool mist of morning, the whisper still echoing hauntingly in her ear. The dream’s residue lingered somehow…it felt like fingers treading up her spine before clenching her heart, leaving her to shudder. Turning her head, she flinched in surprise when her eyes met Jaheira’s over the extinguished campfire. The druid sat cross-legged on her bedroll, her gaze inscrutable.

“Bad dream?”

“I…” Elene swallowed, looking around and trying to get her bearings. The sky had just begun to turn orange at the edges. Khalid and Imoen were still asleep, Kivan nowhere in sight. “Yes. Bad dream.”

“Does it have to do with what happened last night?”

Elene sat up, wiping a hand down her face. “I dreamt of Gorion.”

Jaheira’s gaze softened uncharacteristically as she sighed. She looked years younger doing so. “He will be missed. It is alright to grieve, child. Khalid and I, we also grieve in our own way.”

Nodding, Elene left it at that. She had no intention to keep secrets from Jaheira, but she wished to figure out what was happening on her own. The experienced ones in the group were coddling her enough as it is, moaning about nightmares did not seem like something worthy enough to be added to the list of their concerns. Perhaps she could confide some of this with Imoen later in the day when they can be at a distance from the rest.

The Nashkel Mine was nestled in hilly terrain to the south of Nashkel, at the cusp of the Cloudpeak mountains. Scenic was the journey, so much so that Jaheira grumbled about the need for men to destroy such beauty just for the sake of iron. In a way, there was some benefit in the slowdown of mining activity – perhaps this crisis was precisely needed for nature to recover from man’s rapacious extraction.

Upon approaching the mines, however, Kivan called for a halt. “I hear something.”

The rest paused to listen. Elene heard what he was referring to – soft clinks against stone.

“Could be miners,” she shrugged.

Kivan frowned at her. “Miners use steel picks. Listen.”

And so, she did. This time, though, she could discern that the sound of chipping against stone was too delicate to be related to mining work. “What could that be?”

“One way to find out,” Jaheira inclined her head in the direction of the sound.

They came upon a craggy rock face within sight of the mine itself. The source of the sound was a man in garish-coloured clothing, chipping away at the rock face with a hammer and chisel. As they drew closer, they could distinguish that he was carving the face of a woman. The man was talented indeed, to be able to draw a discernibly beautiful face with such detail and accuracy into unyielding stone.

“Ah beauteous creature, you are my masterpiece,” the man announced breathily, stepping back to admire his work. “Never should I have stolen these emeralds, but there was nothing else that would capture the majesty of thine eyes!”

“Er, hello sir?” Imoen called out to him.

The man jerked back in fright. “Who are you?” He peered at the group, shrinking away as he took in their weapons. “‘Twas that relentless Greywolf who sent you, wasn’t it?”

“Greywolf?” Imoen replied incredulously. “We have nothing to do with anyone with such a silly name…nor would we want to, really.”

“Thank Deneir, I thought I was done in,” the man sighed dramatically. Now that the group was within conversation distance with the man, they could see how thin and haggard he was, and how desperation seemed to waft off him. “I am not cut out for a life on the run. Mayhap you can help a foolish sculptor finish his epiphany?”

“Er, what exactly are you doing here?” Khalid wanted to know.

“Naught but the crowning glory of my life’s work,” the man waved his arm emphatically at the face in the rocks. “Please guard this place and allow me to finish my work. Greywolf will come seeking the bounty on the gems. I will pay with my last possessions if you would do this one service for me.”

“You need rest and healing. To continue at this will be your doom,” Jaheira shook her head.

“Then so shall it be my doom. ‘Tis a work of love, and I shall not find peace until it is done. And I swear, it is very nearly done.” The man clasped his hands together and pleaded, “Please. I, Prism, beseech you.”

Elene touched Jaheira on the arm. “Maybe we should help him.”

The druid took a deep breath as she glanced at her ward, as if gathering patience. “Very well, we will guard you until you are finished, Prism.”

The party settled in at the foot of the rock face to wait. Several hours passed without incident. Despite Jaheira’s admonishment, Prism downed a potion of speed to help him work faster. Elene suspected that he need not even worry about Greywolf - he would likely die of exhaustion soon if he did not rest. As the sun crested the sky, the intricate carving was done, and it was a remarkable vision of an elven woman.

Prism sighed rapturously as he stepped back. “She is beautiful, is she not? ‘Tis a monument to my foolishness. I saw her but once, on the outskirts of Evereska and said nothing. I let thee pass from mine eyes, and mine heart hath cursed me for it!”

Suddenly, Kivan hissed a warning from his perch on the rocks. Barely a minute later, a grey-haired man approached the group, clad in weather-beaten leathers and armed with a sword. Despite being alone facing six people, he swaggered up to them with the type of confidence which can only come from experience.

“I have come for you, Prism,” the man said, his voice as harsh as gravel.

“No, not yet!” Prism shrieked. “My work is almost done! Please, I implore you!”

“Your sentiment is wasted on me, fool,” growled Greywolf, for that was the only person he could be. “You are but gold in my purse. Do you make your situation worse by hiring help to protect you? Who are you fools?”

“Prism wishes only to finish his masterpiece,” Elene called out. “Why not let him? What harm can it do?”

“You should be more worried about the harm _I_ could do. Never have I taken a bounty and not delivered.” Greywolf drew his sword, a wicked looking blade which seemed to flicker with blue light as it was unsheathed. “Now stand aside that I might dispense with this fool and claim my prize.”

The party drew their weapons. Jaheira pointed her quarterstaff at Greywolf. “We will do no such thing.”

“So be it.”

For a seemingly aged man, Greywolf moved like quicksilver. He parried Khalid’s first strike and caught Jaheira’s staff before it connected with his torso. In a quick motion, he yanked Jaheira towards him through her staff, forcing her to release the weapon and turn aside to avoid being skewered by his sword. Greywolf threw her weapon aside and shifted his focus to Khalid, smiling grimly as he advanced on his foe.

Elene cast Armour on herself as she repositioned to try to close in and flank the bounty hunter. Jaheira stood back, calling upon divine Blessing for the group, to focus their attacks.

Despite being outnumbered five to one, Greywolf seemed completely in his element. Khalid had to remain on the defensive the entire fight just to keep himself in one piece. Elene lunged in during opportunistic openings for her sword and dagger, scoring in one nick on his arm, but kept more than a sword-span’s distance otherwise. She knew the man’s enchanted sword would make quick work of her thanks to her lack of armour. All the while, Kivan and Imoen did their best to strike with arrows but Greywolf kept moving and circling around Khalid, making shots exceptionally difficult.

In a quick exchange of strikes and feints, Greywolf advanced swiftly to push his sword through the gap in Khalid’s armour, just below his underarm. As the hunter pulled the blade out, small flecks of ice formed along the wound, eliciting a shocked gasp from the half-elf. Before he could finish the wounded man, however, an arrow found its mark on his shoulder, forcing him to backpedal and reposition himself. This time he kept Elene between him and the archers to confound their line of fire. The hunter sized up his new quarry as he adjusted his footwork. After a moment, his eyes widened in recognition.

“Wait, I recognise you. Your bounty is worth double of Prism’s gems!” Greywolf grinned, his canines flashing. “Seems this will be a very profitable trip indeed!”

That was all the warning Elene received before he closed the distance, his speed startling her into instinctive defence. Thinking quickly, she sidestepped to position him for Imoen and Kivan. Experienced as he was, he simply halted his charge, eyes narrowing as an arrow whipped over his head. The next few minutes were a stalemate, him reaching forward to test her defence and she continually trying to goad him into the archers’ range.

The situation changed when Prism suddenly leaped onto Greywolf’s back with inhuman speed, planting a dagger downward into his shoulder. Growling, the hunter whirled around with his sword, catching the sculptor on his side, leaving behind a trail of crimson. Imoen drew a wand from her belt and fired off a shot of magic missile in tandem with Kivan’s arrow. Both projectiles hit, with the arrow especially striking deep into Greywolf’s torso. Elene rushed forward with gritted teeth, running her sword clean through the man as he turned to face her. While she did not have his experience, she struck with a purpose – it was aimed squarely for where she guessed his heart would be. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

Jaheira was bent over Khalid, already healing the worst of his wound. Imoen rushed to Prism’s aid, but the artist weakly pushed away her hands. He stared in trance at the face on the rocks, his masterpiece. While the fight had been going on, he had affixed two emeralds into the indent of the eyes. They shone magnificently in the afternoon light.

“O sweet creature, my effigy to thee is done. Perhaps our paths will cross in distant realms…and I shall find the courage to call thy name. Ellesime…”

The last word from Prism trailed off in a sigh. He was gone.

Kivan stepped closer to Prism’s last masterpiece and studied it closely. “Ellesime, Queen of Suldanesselar? It is not unheard of, men going mad at the sight of her.”

“What’s so special about her?” Imoen glared at the rocks.

“Divinity,” Elene answered, her voice quiet. “Those the Gods touch can unhinge us mortals.”

Taking a page from Kivan, she leaned down to strip Greywolf of his valuables, taking special interest in his sword. Magical swords are unaffected by iron rot. After a few test swings with the sword, she decided that she will need to recall the right spell to identify the weapon.

They bundled up Prism in his bedroll, with all his artisanal tools, and buried him in a shallow grave. Greywolf was left where he fell for the carrion eaters’ feast.


	8. The depths of despair

In person, Emerson the mine boss seemed better suited to hard physical labour than balancing business ledgers. Broad and muscled, with shrewd grey eyes, he gave the group a cool appraising look after Jaheira had introduced them.

“So you want to take a look at me mines,” he drawled thoughtfully. “Well, I see no harm. There be problems in the lower levels, where we lost some workers. The men talk of things a-movin below, but who’s to say?” He shrugged. “The earth, she hides many things from sight.”

The Amnish soldier guarding the mine entrance gave the group a respectful nod as they walked by. “I wish you guys luck in there. Whatever’s been causing all the trouble isn’t something I’d wanna run into.”

“Sheesh, this seems to just get better and better, doesn’t it?” muttered Imoen.

Jaheira gave her a grim smile. “Hold fast, child. Onward.”

The mines were dark, damp and stifling, just as the books would describe it, Elene thought. Fortunately, most in the group possessed darkvision, so navigating in that environment was not too difficult. The miners they spoke to were a terrified, paranoid bunch. Speculation ran rife from demons to dragons in the deep, but without exception they all spoke of missing miners or guards and the numbers seemed to be increasing in recent week. Not only that, several adventurers who had ventured in recently to solve the mystery never resurfaced. On that ominous note, the party finished interviewing the miners and plunged on deeper into the mines.

The air grew hotter the deeper they traversed. Imoen wiped at the beads of perspiration on her forehead, for the first time wondering if the life of adventuring was really as great as the tales painted. She glanced at her friend, but Elene was tight-lipped and deep in thought. She had been in a strange mood since the hunter attack at Nashkel Inn.

It was deep within the second level of the mines that they all but ran into a miner barrelling out from the corner, seemingly running for his life.

“They’re coming to get me! Gotta get out!” he wailed.

“Who, man? Who are they?” Jaheira grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him slightly.

The man sputtered, eyes like saucers. “Oh Gods, you hear that? They’re here!”

Jaheira shoved the man aside and out of sight. His warning gave them enough time to draw their weapons before the first arrow flew out from the darkness and pinged harmlessly against Khalid’s shoulder plate. Barks and yips echoed out from the corner, along with the light sound of pattering bare feet on the stone.

“Kobolds!” growled Kivan as he loosed his arrow into the dark.

A shriek resounded as the arrow found its mark. Imoen stood back and cursed as she could not see a thing, but the rest of the party were well equipped to face the diminutive dog-faced creatures suddenly pouring out from the tunnels. Vicious as they were, it was a short fight as the kobolds did not have the numbers to swarm and overwhelm a group of armed adventurers. The man they ran into was long gone, bolted off to the higher levels and hopefully, to safety.

“I think,” Jaheira began, wiping the tip of her staff on the dirt. “We need to scout the route before advancing.”

“I can do it,” Elene spoke up.

Jaheira shot Kivan an uneasy look, which he returned with an indifferent shrug.

“I have good eyes for tripwires, too. I can look out for those as I go along,” the girl added.

“Ugh, I wish I had Darkvision, then I could go too!” Imoen grumbled.

“Alright, child.” Jaheira grasped Elene on the shoulder. “But the first sign of danger, you come straight back to us, you hear?”

Elene nodded before advancing from the group, her slight form almost melting into the shadows. Ahead of her, the tunnels widened into a chamber where the ore carts were collected before being pushed up to the higher level – she dipped into the cart and collected a palm-sized chunk of ore sample. The rest of the group settled into a side tunnel to wait. And a nerve-racking wait it was.

Eventually the elf girl returned with her report. Crumbly ore and even more kobolds further down. However, she had discovered where the rest of the guards were holed up and collected more information while she was there. The kobolds were thickest in the third level – that area had been more or less abandoned by both miners and guards as they had been losing too many people of late. There simply weren’t enough guards to patrol and monitor every inch of the tunnels and the creatures seem to pop up at the most unlikely places, leaving bodies in their wake.

“Almost like an infestation,” Elene concluded.

Yet onward they marched, with Elene scouting and the rest forming up ambushes once they knew where the kobolds were clustered. The hours seemed to blur into one another, most in the group began to lose track of time. Luckily, Jaheira’s senses kept them grounded, and despite the fatigue creeping in, they had only been in the Mines for just over a day. Small nicks and cuts began to accumulate on each of them after each skirmish. Eventually, they packed themselves into a storage room to have a rest. In the darkness of the small room, the girls flinched at the sound of every scrape or clink beyond the door. Fortunately, this gave Elene the time to prepare an Identify spell, which she used on Greywolf’s sword. The blade was powerful, touched by Sharrans and tainted with darkness, but she decided that it would be used for good purposes for as long as it was in her hands.

After resuming their slow trek in the gloom for another hour, they finally reached the lowest level in the mines. The group tensed at the bodies littering the entrance to the level, decay already setting in. Three miners lay abandoned on their front, their backs peppered with arrows. Killed as they ran, like vermin. Nothing much could be done to help them except to secure proper burial once the problem was rooted out.

Unlike the previous levels, the kobolds had had ample time to settle in. Elene pointed out a line on the ground which turned out to be a tripwire, similar to what she’d seen Kivan prepare in the wild to catch game. After that discovery, they were much warier with their steps.

“Good find,” Kivan patted his young protégé on the shoulder as they moved along. Elene tried not to glow from the praise but judging from the amused look Imoen was giving her, she’d failed on that mark.

The kobolds had also cottoned on to their new enemy and the trail of bloodshed they’d left behind. Skirmishes then morphed into running battles as the little creatures attacked them from corners and at every opportunity they could find. Jaheira corralled the group to move forward as quickly as possible to avoid being worn down by sheer numbers.

Eventually they came to a bridge, whereby both sides were a sheer drop into what looked like a bottomless chasm. Elene alerted the group that not only was the bridge itself littered with tripwires, but a pair of kobold sentries lurked on the other side with arrows ready. A quick strategy was hatched to clear this obstacle, which involved sending a minor illusion formed to look like a terrifying glowing banshee across the bridge. The sentries bolted in confusion at the sight of the illusion, giving Elene a small window to disarm the tripwires for safe crossing.

By the time the creatures came to their senses and returned for a counterstrike, the party was ready for them. Kivan and Imoen’s arrows made quick work of the vanguard, with the fighters mopping up the rest. Elene quietly marvelled at the efficiency of her new sword, how it was light to swing and cut deep even with a light stroke. Fighting picked up pace as they made more progress, descending into what looked like natural caverns formed underground as opposed to the man-made tunnels they had been traversing through before that point.

The fracas well and truly intensified as they traversed a passage which crossed a rivulet of lava. Fire arrows flew at the party from the other end of the passage, catching Jaheira on the arm. Despite that, she and her husband charged forward to close on the archers before they could wreak more damage. Elene, however, stopped in her tracks when she heard a cry of pain from behind.

Imoen was on one knee, reaching a hand behind her to grapple with the kobold who had snuck up on her. Kivan shot an arrow into the creature’s head without hesitation but the damage was done. Elene ran back to her friend’s side, half-embracing her to hold her steady. Even in the dark, she could see that the creature’s blade had perforated deep into Imoen’s back, a dark patch steadily growing where the wound was. Elene glanced up and met Kivan’s eyes – for the first time in their acquaintance, he looked worried.

“Kivan, cover them! I’ll take care of her,” she told the ranger.

He hesitated, eyes flickering to Imoen’s grievous wound, but advanced swiftly to help their comrades still clashing with more of the creatures further ahead.

“H-how bad is it, Lene?” Imoen stammered, putting her arms around Elene.

“It’s alright, Im.” Elene shakily pulled out a roll of gauze from one of her belt pouches, pressing it onto the wound, earning her a pained hiss. “You’ll be alright.”

Slowly, she brought her other arm up to gently embrace her friend, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming her as she felt blood pour through her fingers. She did not have a healing potion on her, and she knew Imoen didn’t either. Despite what she had said, she had no idea if Imoen would be alright. And if anything happened to her one remaining friend in the Realms, she had no idea what she would do. If it wasn’t for her, Imoen would still be safely tucked away in Candlekeep. She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed with all her heart.

_Please. Please let her be alright._

Suddenly, she felt _something_ spark from within her chest, which then flowed through her body like liquid fire. Her hand on Imoen’s wound began to feel warm, but she instinctively kept it right where it was, channelling that spark there. Imoen let out a gasp of pain, but after a few moments, sighed in relief. Elene hesitantly lifted the gauze from her friend’s wound and saw that the blood flow had been staunched. In fact, the wound looked almost…healed.

“Is it ok now, Lene?” Imoen’s voice sounded small in the darkness.

Elene swallowed, still staring at the soaked patch on her back. “Yes. I…stopped the bleeding.”

She pressed the gauze back in its place and sat with Imoen, eyes searching the dark corners around them for danger. They were not going to get caught unawares again, she would make sure of it. After several minutes, Jaheira strode over to them, holding her arm gingerly against her chest. She looked about as tired as they felt. Khalid and Kivan moved like shadows at her back, posting themselves as sentries overlooking the path forward.

Wordlessly, the druid took over from Elene, studying and probing the wounded area, earning a few winces from Imoen. After a few moments, Jaheira frowned, then looked over at her elven charge. Ignoring her galloping heart, Elene did her best to keep her expression neutral.

“Will she be ok?” she asked instead.

Jaheira opened her mouth as if to say something, but then appeared to change her mind. She refocused on Imoen and cast a healing spell to fully mend the damage, creating a soft bluish glow when the spell took effect. Once Imoen was steady, they then gathered themselves to move further into the caverns ahead. Kivan favoured Elene with a scrutinising look as she moved ahead of him in the tight passage but she avoided his eyes. There would probably be words with her kin once they were safely out of this hellhole.

There were no longer swarms of kobolds to bat away, but the number of traps laid out along the way increased in number. Elene was grateful to be able to focus on the meticulous task of disarming the traps, as it allowed her to forestall the moment of reckoning for what she just did. In all truth, she was frightened to the core – somehow, she had healed Imoen with nothing more than a fervent wish. How was that possible? Could she have divine favour somehow? But she was not even a proper Lorekeeper of Oghma, the whole situation simply did not make sense.

Was there something Gorion kept from her all these years? If only she had the answers.

The caverns then led into another long tunnel, which although natural, had been excavated to smoothen out the path and the walls, enabling two people to walk abreast if the situation called for it. Small, claw-tipped footprints scuffed the dirt, indicating significant kobold traffic coming in and out of that area. It seems they had finally reached the source of the infestation. The group now walked without torches in the darkness and kept their steps light, surprising and quickly subduing the two kobolds who were on the way up to the higher levels.

Unlike the other kobolds they’d killed, however, these two carried several vials of green liquid on their person. Khalid pulled the stopper on one of the vials and grimaced after he took a whiff of the liquid inside.

“Smells caustic,” he told the rest.

“Maybe that’s what’s rotting the iron,” Imoen mused aloud.

“We can give this to Berrun as proof. He will be able to tell for sure,” Khalid replied, bundling up the vials in cloth for safekeeping.

They tread forward in stealth until the tunnels opened up into a giant cavern, whereby they came upon a domed stone structure surrounded by an underground lake. The water of the lake lapped gently against the stones, casting subtle, flickering reflections onto the surrounding walls of the cavern. Subterranean moss growing on the walls emitted its own faint luminosity, making the area look almost dream-like. Despite the discomfort of being so deep underground, even Kivan had to admit that it was quite a sight.

“Ten gold says the big bad is in the dome,” Imoen whispered.

“One way to find out,” Elene nudged her.

Once again, Elene forged the path, sticking close to the walls and using every trick she’d ever read and heeding the pointers Kivan shared with her. She snuck into the dome after Kivan sniped the sentry at the entryway with a well-placed arrow. The resounding splash when the creature impacted the lake’s surface fortunately did not alert others to the scene. Glancing around, Elene saw that the area was dimly lit by torches mounted on crude sconces on the rock walls. Within sight of the dome entryway, a pile of what smelled like old corpses were heaped at the end of one corner. She reeled back in horror at the sight, wondering what the macabre collection was for.

Nervously, she inched forward, noting that there were two chambers within the dome, likely formed by water erosion over the centuries, because the whole place felt _old_. One chamber was inhabited, with random scraps of cloth laid onto the floor as if to form carpets and the area smelled strongly of incense. A lamp was lit somewhere within, but she would have to venture properly past the corner to see inside the area itself. The other chamber was dark and much smaller, but a lone kobold sat at its cusp as if on guard, idly sharpening its short sword.

She crouched low, calculating. That kobold had to go, it had almost clear line of sight to the entrance. But how to do this? Logically, she should bring Kivan in to snipe the creature just as he had done to the sentry outside. But what if there were more of them inside that chamber? Would that bring down the whole place on their heads with only one way out? Or, she reconsidered, she could distract it and sneak into the chamber to see what was beyond. If there was really nothing in there, she could just finish off that lone kobold and bring the rest in without fear of discovery. That seemed the less risky route.

Picking up a small stone, she deftly closed the distance to the distracted kobold before tossing it over its head, straight into the chamber. The sound of stone clinking on stone caused the kobold to whip its head around to find the source. Before it could turn back to face the real threat, she dashed forward and plunged a dagger into the creature’s neck, once and then twice. It gurgled softly as it died. She grabbed it by the shoulders and lowered the body gently to the ground while frantically looking around to check for enemies. To her surprise, the chamber was empty but for a lone figure lying on their side in the corner.

The figure raised their head and looked straight at her. She went taut as a bowstring, still crouched over the body of the dead kobold. A dozen scenarios played out in her head and she began estimating how fast she could bolt out of the dome and back to the safety of her group. As she stared wide-eyed at the figure, though, her Darkvision adjusted to the gloom and she realised with a start that she was looking at an elven man.

Slowly, she approached him. He made no move, simply watching her, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. Once she was within whispering distance, she dropped to one knee, noting that his wrists were bound with rope, with a gag in his mouth. The man was obviously a prisoner, pale and emaciated from untold days in captivity.

“Who are you?” she whispered, releasing him of his gag.

“Xan,” he croaked, barely audible.

His cracked word drew a wince from her – his voice was raw, scratchy, like his vocal cords had been damaged and then starved of water. Despite the pang of sympathy from that realisation, she needed to know what she was up against, and quickly. She gestured at his bonds. “Who did this?”

“Mulahey,” he answered, almost in a daze. “Next cove.”

“Who is he? What is he?”

“Something orcish.” The man swallowed, then licked his cracked lips. “Priest.”

She pondered that, then realised she still had a bloody dagger in her hand. On a whim, she took his bonds in one hand and cut through them in quick strokes. His eyes widened in surprise as the rope came loose, falling uselessly to the ground.

“Stay here,” she ghosted a touch on his arm. “We will get you out.”

The elf said nothing as he laid there staring at his unbound hands.

Sheathing her dagger, she crept back to the mouth of the dome, double checking that the kobold she dispatched was hidden well enough. It was time to regroup and put paid to this Mulahey. On her way out, she caught the sound of fevered mutterings coming from the adjacent cove, as well as the scraping steps of kobold feet on stone. A part of her yearned to peek over the corner to have a better idea of what they would face, but then she remembered old stories of dark priests with divine-enhanced senses which could catch out unsuspecting scouts. Swallowing, she forged ahead on her original course of action, deciding that discretion is the better part of valour. The last thing she wanted was to end up tied up in that cave with poor Xan.

Upon re-joining her group, she watched their faces become grim as she described the interior of the dome, the prisoner and the nature of their enemy. Kivan noted that a quick arrow from the dark would end the creature quicker than any frontal assault, but Jaheira forestalled his idea.

“We need to know who Mulahey works for or our work here would only be half done,” she explained.

With that, it was decided. Jaheira, Khalid and Elene would go in and confront Mulahey while Kivan and Imoen hid in the shadows to foil any ambush or unseen traps.

It was a workable idea, Elene thought, especially since they had no inkling on how many kobolds could be in there.

She did her best not to cringe at the relative din they were making as they entered the dome together, knowing for certain that it would attract the attention of the occupants further in. Sure enough, her sharp ears caught the sound of boots shuffling towards them from around the corner. Jaheira moved ahead undeterred with staff in hand, ready for confrontation.

“What? Who comes?” A hulking figure ambled towards them, dressed in what seemed like parts of chainmail armour. As he drew close, the dim firelight brought his green-tinged skin and tusks into sharp contrast, confirming Xan’s description of his captor. When he caught sight of the armed trio at the threshold of his lair, however, he shrank bank in fear. “Tazok must have dispatched you, and my traitorous kobolds let you pass, didn't they?”

Elene fingered her sword hilt nervously, resisting the urge to glance back into the shadows. Tazok?

Mulahey jerkily drew the morning star at his belt and pointed it at them. “I knew I could not trust them! Armed as such, you have obviously been sent to kill me! By Cyric, not a measure of ore leaves these mines unspoiled, and I am still to be executed?! I'll not lose my head over this! To me, my minions!”

Yips and barks of kobolds heralded their arrival, half a dozen of them pouring out from the alcove Mulahey came from. As the party advanced, Mulahey raised his free hand and barked a quick incantation. To their horror, the mound of old corpses at the end of the cavern began to shift. Three skeletons with bits of flesh still clinging on them rose to do his bidding. They were armed with steel picks and crude knives, likely remnants of miners killed by the kobolds.

Jaheira quickly summoned vines to rise from the earth and hold the skeletons in place. “I will hold the undead!” she called out and moved to head off her foes.

Khalid and Elene were swarmed by the other kobolds before they could close on Mulahey. Two arrows flew in, one felling a kobold and the other lodging itself in Mulahey’s collar, earning a guttural roar of pain from the orcish priest. Elene lost track of much of what happened next as she lost herself in parrying stabs from kobolds in the tight space trying to clear a path for Khalid to charge through to the priest.

Just as Khalid stepped up to slash at Mulahey with one of his swords, however, the priest shot off a spell freezing both the warrior and Elene in place. A kobold managed to plant its small blade deep into Elene’s thigh, which would have solicited a shout from her if she had been able to open her mouth, before an arrow ended its life. The elf was still unable to react as the last kobold standing jumped in front of her to take advantage of her paralysis. Another arrow flew in from afar, striking Mulahey in the arm but the half-orc ignored the wound, raising his weapon to land a potentially deadly blow to Khalid’s head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elene saw the nearest torch on the wall flicker and then bloom into ball of fire. The flame jumped from the torch to sweep against Mulahey’s unprotected face, singeing him badly and ruining his concentration. Mulahey grabbed at his face and wailed in pain even as he swung his weapon. In the same instant, his magic hold on her broke, allowing her to make a reflexive slash which decapitated her kobold assailant. Likewise, Khalid careened out of the way of Mulahey’s wild strike in the nick of time.

“Good spell!” he gasped.

“It wasn’t me!” Elene replied, clutching her bleeding thigh.

Khalid didn’t reply as he shifted his footing to slice unerringly at the priest’s middle, leaving a deep trail of red in his sword’s wake. Mulahey shrieked and brought the hand clutching his burned face to the wound for an attempt at healing but the half-elf stepped in close for the coup de grace, impaling the enemy with his main hand blade. Cringing, Khalid kicked the dying creature off his blade before moving to help Jaheira still facing off against the two remaining skeletons.

Elene limped towards their beaten opponent and watched as he took his last breath. Instinctively, her head whipped to the right when she realised there was a figure slumped just at the mouth of the alcove.

It was the prisoner, Xan. He was staring at Mulahey’s corpse, his hand still locked in a cantrip gesture to control flames.


	9. The lynchpin

Jaheira frowned as she sheafed through the papers in the large chest. Typical of a Cyricist, this Mulahey was paranoid enough to keep all correspondences coming his way and a seemingly meticulous inventory of the ore poison used to contaminate the mines. From her quick scanning, he was receiving orders from a superior named Tazok, who supplied both kobold shock troops and ore poison to run this operation. She rolled up as much of the papers and pouches as she could and deposited them in her pack. There could be more nuggets of information extracted from the trove collected, but that can be done later.

For now, they needed to get out of the mines and quickly.

“What did you find?” Kivan appeared at her elbow like a shadow.

She turned and gripped his shoulder. “Later. We must move.”

Her healing spells were completely exhausted, her store of healing potions and herbs were also running low. The herbs especially were needed to get the elven prisoner back on his feet. He was in terrible shape after weeks of imprisonment and torture, she suspected that force of will alone is keeping the elf upright now. That, and the moonblade he now held in his posession as he seemed to draw energy from the weapon when he was reunited with it. He and Elene were resting on makeshift seats in Mulahey’s living quarters to catch their second wind.

During their brisk introductions, Xan claimed he was a Greycloak from Evereska, captured infiltrating Mulahey’s lair. She wondered why the Greycloaks were interested in the iron crisis in the first place. The problem was unlikely to plague their well-defended walls. Even so, she was quietly grateful for his presence as the fight could have gone badly without his intervention. Closing her pack, she grabbed a leather-bound book from the chest and strode over to join the rest. From the seals and elven writing engraved on the cover, she guessed that it was a wizard’s spellbook.

“Hey, Jaheira. These guys sure are keeping a lot of baubles around,” Imoen called out as she drew close, stuffing Mulahey’s holy symbol of Cyric into one of her many pockets. “The kobolds mine them or something?”

“Mined them from the miners, more like,” the druid replied shortly, then directed her attention to the Greycloak. She handed him the book. “Are you fit to walk? We must leave now. More will come.”

The elf looked up from the moonblade laid across his lap as he accepted the book, recognition flickering in his expression. In the dim lighting, he looked like death warmed over, with his swollen, bruised face and curtain of dishevelled dark hair. His eyes however, shone with hidden steel. This man was not one to be trifled with, Jaheira realised. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, clipping the ornate blade to his belt as he did.

“If I fail to keep up, leave me,” he responded, his voice still hoarse from disuse.

Elene clambered to her feet. “We’re not going to leave you.”

Xan glanced at her but said nothing. He was already storing his spellbook in the folds of his tattered robes. “There is another path out through to the hills. If we are lucky, they have not sealed it off.”

Jaheira nodded. “Likely a better option than going back the way we came. Lead on.”

And off they went, Xan in the lead with Khalid at his elbow to support him as they walked. Jaheira and Elene made up the middle with Imoen and finally Kivan guarding the rear. Sure enough, a volley of arrows greeted them when they emerged from the stone dome. Kivan swiftly stepped forth and launched a flask Imoen found into the dark tunnels, ducking when the flask exploded in a ball of fire, drowning out the shocked screams of their assailants. Amid the chaos, the rest of the party ran across a narrow ledge leading away from the tunnels they came from. Once they cleared the line of fire, Elene cast a Web spell from one of Xan’s spell scrolls to coat the narrow path behind them in sticky webbing.

The new path was rife with its own threats, however. For one thing, it was almost pitch black, making it especially challenging for Imoen, who relied entirely on Jaheira to guide her forward. Twice, Khalid at the front almost stepped on sentient jellies inhabiting the subterranean tunnels. His armour took most of the acid burns from the creatures but his and Elene’s enchanted swords cut through them like butter, making quick work of the encounters.

As an hour went by, Xan’s strength began to flag, forcing Khalid to half-carry, half-drag him along the way. The half-elf stoically ignored the other man’s request to be left behind. Once she became accustomed to the slopes of the tunnels, Elene forged ahead of the group to scout out the path in an awkward limping run. Urgency required it - behind them, the elves of the group could begin to hear distant pitter patter of clawed feet. Jaheira gritted her teeth as Imoen stumbled on a rock. They cannot afford a pitched running battle with an injured person in the group. At the same time, a stationary battle would mean the kobolds were free to pick them off one at a time from behind at their leisure.

“Light ahead!” Elene’s hiss broke the grim silence.

“Oh, thank Lathander,” Imoen sighed as they picked up speed to catch up with her friend.

When Khalid, Xan, Jaheira and Imoen reached her, Elene stood at the end of the tunnel, a magelight hovering above her head. She pointed to a small opening at the top of the tunnel which had the slightest ray of light shining through the cracks. The problem was that the opening was far too small for any of them to fit through.

“What do we do now?” she whispered, ashen faced.

Xan sighed. “Oh, what is the point?”

Jaheira shot a dirty look at the elf before studying the wall of rocks. “This tunnel has been collapsed recently.” She manoeuvred her way to the front to touch the rocks, reaching out and sensing the earth around them. Behind her, she could hear Kivan curse as he finally caught up with them.

“They are almost upon us. We must prepare to fight,” he urged.

“No need for that,” the druid replied, surprising even herself at how calm she sounded. “Step back. This is our way out.”

Ignoring her numbing fatigue, she reached deep within, praying to Silvanus for the strength to mould the earth before her into a traversable path. Slowly, the rocks began to roll off each other and into the tunnel, widening the opening at the top. She concentrated until she felt her efforts reach all the way through to what felt like the opening of a cavern on the other side, before releasing the spell with a huff of breath.

Elene grinned when the rocks settled, then shimmied through the new exit before anyone could say a word. More rocks fell in through the opening as she crawled her way through, until after a tense minute or so, she called out an all clear from the other side. Imoen went next, with Xan hanging on to her ankle to help pull him through the crawlspace. Again, he protested at the manhandling, saying that he can stay back and fight, but the rest of the party was having none of it.

Jaheira glanced at Kivan. “Go ahead. We will see you on the other side.”

He hesitated for a moment before slinging his bow across his body and climbing through the opening.

She then turned to face her husband. “I will go last, once you are through.”

Khalid grabbed her shoulders. “No. If any should go last, it will be me.”

“My love,” she touched his face, smiling slightly. “I could never collapse the tunnel knowing you are in it. Now get in there and make sure the children are safe. Silvanus willing, we can celebrate once we are out of this hole.”

Khalid planted a quick but fierce kiss on her lips before moving to the exit. She waited for a good handful of seconds before taking after him. There needed to be enough of a gap between them if she needed to close the tunnel to bury ardent pursuers. She could accept that fate for herself, perhaps, but not for him. He deserved better than to die alone underground with these vermin.

The crawlspace was tighter than she expected, making her wonder idly how Khalid managed it in his armour. Combined with the hot and musty air, she was sweating heavily within seconds. Behind her, she began to hear faint yipping sounds. This galvanised her to crawl faster, her shoulders shaking from the renewed effort. She went through the remaining distance with her heart in her throat, imagining phantom swords ready to cut at her ankles at any moment, a mould earth spell ready to be cast to bury all of them under a ton of earth and rock. The light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter as she moved, though, and soon enough she was pulled through the other side by strong hands and brought into the light of early morning sun.

Catching her breath, she batted Kivan’s hands away and quickly turned to bury the tunnel with earth, causing the ground around them to shake with minute tremors. No one said a word as they waited for the ground to settle.

Panting heavily, Jaheira surveyed her group. Khalid standing off to one side graced her with a relieved smile before drawing a mouthful from his waterskin. Kivan already had his bow in hand and was surveying the surrounding area with his keen eyes. Imoen was crouched over her pack, rummaging for something within, likely food or water. Elene and Xan sat next to each other, the former pressing on her bleeding thigh, relief written on her features. Xan, on the other hand, was leaning back on a rock, staring wonderingly at the sky.

They all looked filthy, battered and exhausted. But they were alive.

The druid reached for her husband’s waterskin, a dry chuckle escaping from her. “Job well done, eh?”

Khalid’s brown eyes twinkled even as he smiled. “You could say that.”

“Does this mean we solved the iron crisis?” asked Imoen, grinning. “Are we heroes yet?”

“We need to prove we’re heroes first, Im,” Elene piped up, looking straight at Jaheira. “That is what those papers and the ore poison are for, I’m assuming?”

Jaheira nodded, secretly pleased with her ward’s perceptiveness. “We must return to Nashkel to close this matter. But first, let us find a safe place to rest.”

“This area is too open,” agreed Kivan. “We should keep moving.”

As the ranger moved off, Jaheira noticed his left arm was bloody from the bicep down, a deep tear in his sleeve indicating that an arrow had cut through him during their escape. Even so, he held his bow steadily with his left hand. Elene winced as she took to her feet, a pained expression remaining on her face as she limped after Kivan. Her wound will need to be properly looked at the moment they had reprieve, for certain.

Khalid was covered in a variety of nicks and cuts from kobold blades which made it through his defenses. Not life threatening, but it clearly slowed him down in the tunnels. He moved stiffly even now, as he patted Imoen’s shoulder to get her moving. The human girl’s back was still dark from her blood spilled during the tunnel skirmish, but she was otherwise whole. Remembering that harrowing battle, Jaheira frowned. There was something strange about Imoen’s wound when she tried to heal it, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it yet. She would need to have a word with Elene when they were back in Nashkel.

Xan remained where he was. Despite having his robes reduced to almost rags and being covered in bruises, dirt and grime, he looked like the most content person on Faerun. She approached him, offering a hand to help him up. His piercing blue eyes shifted their gaze from the sky to her outstretched hand, his expression becoming more closed as he did so. Wordlessly, he accepted her aid, coming painfully to his feet. She observed the angry ligature marks on his wrists during their brief contact. It would take him weeks, if not months, to physically recover from his ordeal. Mentally, however, he may never recover from it.

Like Khalid.

“I thank you for my freedom. For too long I languished in the dark, thinking I would never see the sky again.” Jaheira glanced at Xan in surprise when he spoke. He canted his head in gratitude. She did not expect him to speak, so reticent was he throughout their brief acquaintance.

“You are welcome to travel with us to Nashkel,” she replied. “I assume you would like to speak with the mayor as well.”

“You assume right.” He nodded, walking slowly with her. “Jaheira, was it?”

“Yes.”

“I fear I will not be of much use to you for this leg of the journey, barring simple cantrips. I need…time.” He glanced at one of his stiff, bony hands. “To recover my strength.”

“It is no trouble,” she assured him. “We only ask for you to support us when we meet Berrun.”

“Done.” His reply was decisive. “I had my doubts at first, but your group is competent.”

“Why thank you for the vote of confidence,” she drawled.

He glanced at her in surprise. “I meant no offense. If our goals continue to align, we may continue to work together. From my observation of Mulahey, he is definitely not the mastermind of this plot. Something much bigger is afoot here.” He gestured vaguely at her. “You will understand better when you’ve read the letters in his keeping.”

“Why _are_ you investigating this plot in particular?”

They walked in silence as he seemed to consider his next words. “My superiors instructed me to look into the iron shortage, to see if there was a greater threat to the region as a whole. By sheer chance, I found a stooge who ferried material for Mulahey, deep in his cups in Berdusk. After some…persuasion, I extracted the location of this lair.” He frowned momentarily, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “I would say my capture was inevitable, but ‘twas carelessness that sealed it in the end.”

Jaheira hummed. “And here we are.”

“And here we are.” Xan half-smiled – a grim, tired quirk of his lips.

Despite her better judgment, Jaheira was beginning to take a shine to him. His manner was direct, efficient but she sensed a level of sophistication in him which could prove useful to the group. She certainly admired the gumption of a man willing to infiltrate the depths of a mine alone for a mission. However, they would need to be wary of his allegiances and what he would be reporting to his Greycloak superiors. Something to be discussed with Khalid later.

“What of you? Why are you looking into this?” he asked after a lull.

“Berrun is an old friend,” she answered, the alibi rolling effortlessly off her tongue. “He sought help and we offered.” She threw a glance over her shoulder at the cavern they emerged from, the collapsed hole a receding image in the background. “If I’d known the extent of the problem, I may have charged him up front for it, friend or no.”

Xan nodded. His expression was carefully blank. Part of the reason she always had challenges with elves, Jaheira thought. They were so difficult to read.

The remaining trek continued in silence, except for the occasional burst of chatter from Imoen punctuated by Khalid’s stammered replies. Jaheira wondered what her new companion made of the girl’s antics. If she could hear bits of the conversation, surely Xan could hear the whole thing. She would need to think of an explanation for why these two inexperienced girls were traveling with them in the first place. That question would inevitably crop up the longer they spent time with the Greycloak.

Kivan eventually found a sheltered clearing with rocky outcropping which Khalid deemed defensible. Even though it was in the middle of the day, no one argued the decision to set up camp to rest. As they were, the group was in no shape to face unexpected bandits or monsters in the wild.

“Elene,” Jaheira called her ward over. “Let me see.”

The girl shuffled over, looking about ready to pitch forward into a bedroll at any time. She sat with the druid at the edge of the clearing, angling herself closer for easier inspection. “It’s stopped bleeding now, I think.” She grimaced. “Just feels a bit disgusting.”

Carefully, Jaheira unwound the blood-soaked makeshift bandages around the girl’s thigh. The deep wound was partially healed in the caverns but their madcap escape aggravated the limb enough for the wound to reopen. She was out of healing spells but there were still salves and healing potions on hand. A potion was handed to Elene while she cleaned the wound and applied a foul-smelling salve on the area. There was some risk of infection until healing spells can be cast, but Jaheira suspected that she would need to prioritise healing for Xan. His convalescence would need to be fast-tracked so he can make the journey to Nashkel without slowing them down.

“It’s cut through muscle, so recovery will be painful,” she explained as she capped a bottle of salve. “You can put weight on the leg but if you start feeling a particularly sharp pain as you walk, let me know immediately.”

Elene nodded, nose wrinkling at the smell. “What’s in that thing?”

“What’s good for you seldom smells like roses, child,” was Jaheira’s dry response.

“Maybe I can help come up with a salve that smells like roses,” Elene smiled at her guardian as her thigh was re-bandaged. “That would be nice.”

“Alchemy?” Jaheira frowned at her. “Perhaps you should focus on improving your fighting skills first. You’d need to survive the battle for any salve to be of use.”

“But I was held by a spell. Not much I could do about it,” protested the girl.

“Still, you must admit there are areas to improve on. For one, if you are injured, there is no need for you to go lunging into unproven tunnels like a proverbial test rodent,” she gave her ward a pointed look.

“I…” It seemed as though Elene was about to apologise, but then her expression became obstinate. “I couldn’t very well let Imoen go first. What if it was dark and dangerous on the other side?” She dug her heel in. “Anyway, I could do it, and I did. Everything turned out fine.”

Jaheira sighed, not willing to argue the point anymore. She was that tired. “Next time ask before leaping. We may not be able to help you if we are not prepared.” With that, she tied off the last bit of bandage, “Alright, I’m done.”

“Thank you,” Elene replied quietly, pulling away to join Imoen resting under a shady outcropping.

Wiping her hands, Jaheira fought the urge to sigh again. How did Khalid make handling these girls look so simple? They needed to understand the risks they undertook in every minute decision that they make - some consequences can be irreversible. Yet they were less receptive to her advice than they were to Khalid’s or even Kivan’s, despite her best intentions. Resolving to deal with this conundrum in a calmer environment, she gathered her things to tend to Xan.

If he’d been exhausted earlier, he was completely out of energy now. The elf sat slumped against the rock wall, sipping from what appeared to be Kivan’s waterskin. To her surprise, he looked quite clean now. She suspected some cantrip or other had been used toward that end. He nodded at her as she settled on her knees facing him.

“Come to waste more resource on this lost cause?” he asked, his tone dry.

She shot him an unamused look, not deigning to respond. “Roll up your sleeves.”

In daylight, the damage inflicted upon the elf became all the more evident. His torture consisted mostly of beatings and precise cuts with kobold blades. Some of his older wounds showed signs of crude healing, possibly to allow him to recover enough before the next round of beatings. His hands were stiff from bondage, making it challenging for him to wield any weapon or cast proper spells. The worst damage, however, came from starvation and dehydration, which were beyond her current ability to remedy.

He sat stoically as she applied healing salve on his face, hands and wrists. Another healing potion reduced the swelling from most of his bruises, but she suspected that he would need a round of spells for him to recover further use of his hands. She planned to keep their last healing potion in reserve.

“Rest up,” she told him once she was done, getting to her feet. “You should visit the Temple of Helm when we are in Nashkel. The priests there can do more thorough work than I.”

“Thank you. I will take that under advisement.” Somehow, he managed to sound dignified even half covered in green salve.

Jaheira finally retired to a corner claimed by Khalid. He had already shed his breastplate and was fastidiously dressing some of his wounds. A healer he was not, but he patched up the necessary in the most efficient manner possible. You could take a man out of the militia, but you could never take the militia out of a man, she mused.

“Alright, dear?” he asked.

“Better than I thought we would be,” she replied, passing him the remainder of her healing salve.

“Thanks to you, of course.” His look turned serious. “We would have been done for if you hadn’t opened up that tunnel.”

She closed her eyes and reached deep within again, feeling the familiar warmth of her patron. “Silvanus willed it, not I.”

Khalid opted not to press the matter. “We should move on as soon as you’re rested.”

“Who has first watch?” she asked as she laid out her bedroll next to his.

“Kivan.” He tilted his head toward their approaching elven companion.

Kivan’s left arm was already wrapped tightly with cloth, Jaheira noted with approval. He crouched in front of them with the coiled grace of a panther. His face was grim. “No sign of threats yet but we cannot discount wandering creatures. When can we move?”

Does this man not tire? Jaheira seriously wondered. Judging from Khalid’s expression, he must be thinking the same.

“Three hours after Highsun, perhaps,” she answered. “I should have my spells in order by then.”

Kivan glanced at Xan. “Can he continue?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Satisfied, he flicked his eyes back to her. There was a predatory glint in them. “Those letters you took. Were they from someone named Tazok?”

She stared at him, too fatigued to conceal her initial surprise. “You know who that is?”

The ranger put his hand out, palm up. “I wish to see them.”

His tone brooked no argument.


	10. The half-empty glass

Xan came to consciousness feeling like he had climbed a mountain with his bare hands only to be pushed off the summit to land on rocks. And that was before the pungent smell of medicinal herbs hit him.

Dear Corellon, he felt horrendous.

Blinking at the brightness, it took him a moment to realise that he was looking at a human girl hovering over him, her auburn hair turning reddish in the light. He was too bewildered to do more than gawk at her visage as his senses slowly returned.

“’Afternoon, Mister Elf,” she grinned at him, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth. “We’re having a quick bite before heading off, Jaheira thought you should have some.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned closer with concern. “Er, are you okay?”

“I…” Xan gathered himself, “Yes, I will join you. Give me a moment.”

“Alrighty.”

With that, the girl flitted off to join the rest of the group. The stammering half-elf and the tall elf were already eating what looked to be dried meat while Jaheira was passing the same to the elven girl. As he struggled to his feet, he thought hard to try to recall their names, but he could only remember Khalid, Kivan and Jaheira. He would have to ask his kinsman to remind him what the other two were called. The escape from the mines felt like a terrible blur in his mind now. The only thing clear to him right then was that he was positively ravenous.

“How are you feeling?” asked Jaheira as he shuffled over.

“I’ll live,” he replied dryly, accepting rations from her. Opening the cloth wrapping, he noticed that the dried meat had been portioned out into smaller chunks.

She nodded at him. “You must eat a little bit at a time. After your imprisonment, your stomach may not be able to handle normal portions immediately.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He sat next to Kivan, a frown on his face as he slowly chewed his food. It annoyed him that he needed to be reminded of such simple things. Helplessness had been his constant companion the past few weeks and he had loathed every moment of it. He’d hoped that he could leave that behind in the mines but evidently, he would be reliant on this group to get through the coming days. Despite Jaheira’s assurance, he knew the road to recovery would be a long and painful one.

Speaking of which, he did not even know what day it was today.

“Kivan, may I know what date it is?” he asked quietly in Elvish.

“Mirtul. Likely tenth,” came the terse reply.

Xan swallowed his ration and somehow managed not to choke on it. He’d lost nearly three weeks in that godforsaken hole. Glancing at his kinsman, he noticed that Kivan seemed more tense than when they were in the mines. He was staring at the ground hard enough to almost burn holes in it. Casting his gaze about, Xan caught Khalid giving Kivan a concerned look before looking away while Jaheira was resolutely not looking in Kivan’s direction.

_Curious._

Xan filed the observation away for future reference. He then turned to the two girls in their midst. The human was clapping her hands together to clear off food crumbs, already done with her meal. Despite her almost childlike countenance, he knew that she was both stronger and tougher than she looked. She had helped him get through the last leg of the tunnel with her enthusiastic encouragements. For the last few yards, she was the one who pulled him out the other side when his strength finally failed him, keeping good cheer the entire way. The sheer contrast of her with the harrowing torment of the mines was thoroughly disorientating, like getting hit in the face with a Colour Spray.

The elf girl caught him glancing at her and smiled at him. Now, this one was a bit more of a mystery. Barring the brief exchange they had when she cut his bonds, he’d had minimal interaction with her. From what he’d seen, she was young, quick in both thought and act. What he could not understand, however, was that she spoke with Kivan in Common even when it was just the two of them in discussion. And yet, she was evidently a full-blooded elf, not cha’tel’quessir like Khalid and Jaheira.

Those two were obviously a couple, though. There were some gestures between bonded men and women which transcended race and culture. Jaheira’s explanation made it seem like this motley crew were mercenaries. He could believe that in the manner of the older members, but he couldn’t connect the same dots for the two young ones. Could they have been foundlings rescued from some gruesome fate?

He almost scoffed at that line of thought. As if there was a more gruesome fate than the Life.

Seeing Jaheira come towards him, he wrapped the rest of his food for safekeeping. “Is it time to go?”

“Soon. I need to check your hands,” came Jaheira’s reply.

Her inspection was methodical and precise, as he’d begun to expect from the druid. He almost sighed when her healing spell washed over his stiff fingers. With luck, he would be able to cast proper spells now. He’d barely managed to refresh a few spells from his spellbook before resting, but since his pouch of spell components were missing, his repertoire was quite limited for the time being. Still, it meant that he wasn’t completely useless in a fight now. As a Greycloak, he’d been trained to only need his moonblade, a spellbook and his wits to fully function. Anything else was a bonus.

The group gathered their things and headed off, following the sun as it began to move westward. Based on the maps, they were somewhere within no man’s land in the Cloudpeak Mountains, a few days’ journey from Nashkel. The barren area used to be some sort of burial ground, Jaheira told them, so they should be wary of undead.

“South of these peaks is the heart of Amn, with the great Lake Esmel in the centre. The lake shines like a giant sapphire in the landscape,” she shared with the girls, her expression almost wistful. “Then further south you will cross another mountain range called the Small Teeth, and just beyond it lay the Forest of Tethir. The locals call it the Wealdath.”

“I’ve read that the Wealdath is the one of the vastest forests in Faerun,” mused the elf girl.

“It would take a week to traverse from one end of the forest to the next, yes.”

“Amazing. I would like to see it one day.”

The human chuckled at that. “Taken a liking to the great outdoors, Lene? Never thought I’d see the day!”

She shrugged. “The world is our oyster, Im. Seems silly to want to stay in one place forever now.”

“Here’s to that!”

Ahead of them, Xan saw Kivan flinch at the girl’s exclamation. His kinsman turned to look at the girl but caught his eye instead. He raised an eyebrow at Kivan questioningly, but the other man just shook his head and kept moving. Definitely not one for small talk, Xan concluded.

Jaheira was quite right about this region being no man’s land. Barring minor skirmishes with gibberlings and wild dogs, their trek was mostly humdrum with sporadic breaks taken to accommodate to Xan. His only finding of the day was finally figuring out the names of the two girls. They pushed forward until late at night, when Kivan signalled that he had found a water source. Xan almost sagged with relief at this discovery. Although prestidigitation cantrips did a good job of cleaning, he felt that only water could truly cleanse him of Mulahey’s filth. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the creature pawing at him in the dark.

The party congregated nearby a narrow river. After refilling their waterskins, they took turns to clean themselves as much as they could. Xan waited for Kivan to return, his hair still dripping wet, before being the last one to clean. Given a choice, he would have liked to just drown himself in the cool waters but the moonblade would probably end him before he’d even submerged his head underwater. His mission was still incomplete, he reminded himself. He needed to survive for that if nothing else, no matter how wretched he felt.

Feeling infinitely better after a wash, he scooped out handfuls of river sand and deposited them on a flat rock by the riverbank. He sat there for a long while, watching the wet sand thoughtfully as water droplets dripped from his hair and into his collar.

_Another thing to deal with when they reached civilisation: a haircut._

“Xan? Are you alright?”

He turned to see the elf girl emerge from the treeline. Her eyes flickered like quicksilver through his Darkvision, uncertainty clear in the hunch of her shoulders and her uneasy hands. Likely Jaheira has asked her to fetch the defenceless mage before he was eaten by a random wild animal.

“I’m fine,” he replied, turning back to his little project. “Just watching sand dry.”

“I’m…sorry?”

He wondered if he wanted to make her squirm a bit more, but he took pity on her. “You are a fellow practitioner, yes? Sand is a spell component.”

“I see.” He heard her step closer until she was right next to him. She smelled strongly of soap. “Which spell?”

“Sleep.”

“Why didn’t you take any from the barren lands?”

He shook his head. “Quartz gravel won’t work. I need fine sand, such as this.”

She did not reply, yet he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. Instead of another question, she surprised him with a suggestion instead. “Jaheira has a trick she uses to extract water out of things. Maybe she can help with the drying part.”

He glanced at her. “I will take that under advisement.”

“Did you need any other components? I have scraps of leather for Armour if you’d like. And some fleece and lodestones.”

“I would appreciate that.”

She peered at him as though looking for another reaction. When none was forthcoming, she angled away to make her move back to camp. “Anyway, I’m on first watch tonight. Jaheira said we should stick close.” She gestured at the pile of sand. “You can come back and collect this in the morning, perhaps?”

He sighed as he got to his feet. “With my luck, it will get blown back into the river by morning.”

“Good excuse for another wash then,” she smiled as they walked back to camp together.

“Elene, you are…of the People, are you not?” he asked her curiously.

She huffed a small laugh. “Did the ears give it away?”

“And yet you did not greet me in our way, as Kivan did,” he replied calmly in Elvish, gauging her reaction.

His words seemed to break through her easy-going veneer for a moment. She responded in stilted elvish, “I…do not know how.”

“Truly?” Xan was so incredulous that he nearly stopped in his tracks. “Where are you from?”

“I mean,” she amended quickly. “I know the words. I just don’t think I’d sound convincing saying it.”

“You were not raised by our People?” he guessed.

She shook her head. “I was adopted after my mother died. It was no great crime to elvenkind - as far as anyone knew, she had no living relation.”

“What about your father?”

She shrugged. “To me, the only father I know was a human.”

He paused. “Was?”

Her gaze dropped to her feet. “He died recently. We were ambushed on the road.”

And suddenly many things began to make sense to him.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he offered, awkward but sincere.

“Thank you. Well, we’re here. Good night, Xan. Hope you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

She split off from him the moment the camp came into sight, evidently wishing to avoid further conversation on the topic. Belatedly, he realised that she’d also avoided mentioning any specifics in her answers. Either the matter was still too prickly for her, or she did not want him finding out more, or perhaps both. Despite her youth, she may not be as naïve as he’d initially thought.

He decided to let the matter go for now. Rest and recovery took precedence.

The next morning dawned uneventfully. Once again, he seemed to be the last person to awaken, judging from the sounds and voices by the doused campfire. He spotted a linen pouch next to his bedroll as he sat up. Curious, he tugged it open and found it filled almost to the brim with sand. River sand, to be precise. Tied to the sand pouch was a smaller cloth pouch with what felt like small stones and a strip of hard material in it. Lodestones and leather if he were to take a guess.

He cast his gaze about the camp and saw Elene deep in conversation with Khalid. Dark circles hung under her eyes. She looked like she had been up for hours. He glanced at the pouches in his hand. He would have to remember to thank her later.

That day, the group walked in better spirits knowing that Nashkel would be within reach by nightfall. Xan could hear Imoen wondering about the type of celebration the mayor could throw to mark the happy occasion. Jaheira was much more cautious on the matter, as if uncomfortable with the attention they would garner by marching up and announcing their success to the whole town. He was inclined to agree with her. Mulahey obviously had connections to some insidious people. There was no telling who could be watching them from a crowd of celebrating farmers and miners.

An hour outside of town, however, Elene signalled for a halt. Kivan had found something.

“They’re waiting,” Kivan said simply as the group drew together. “At the edge of the farmland.”

“How many?” Jaheira’s voice was tense.

“Four that I can see.”

“Who are they? How do you know they’re waiting?” Xan wanted to know. Looking around him, the rest seemed to be on high alert, but he could not understand why.

“It’s obvious,” Kivan replied with a blank look but his gaze skittered to Elene for the barest of moments.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Can we go around?”

“They will see us.” He shook his head. “It is better to face them than to have them at our backs.”

Khalid studied the landscape thoughtfully. “Even if it is an ambush, we have room to scatter.”

“And _we_ have the element of surprise now,” Imoen added.

Jaheira leaned on her staff as she weighed all the arguments, her brows furrowed as she thought. At last, she looked to Elene. “Kivan has a point. I would not want them at my back if they are a threat.”

Elene swallowed, a haunted look settling on her features. “I suppose you’re right.”

Xan studied the girl. She has been standoffish since morning but in the current circumstance, he noticed she was behaving downright strangely. Did this potential threat they were facing have anything to do with her?

“Xan, are you able to aid us if they are hostile?” Jaheira shifted her gaze to the elf in question.

He touched the spell components at his belt. There was slim chance of him swinging his moonblade without further healing. “I will do what I can.”

“Good.” The druid straightened up. “Let us move quickly.”

Jaheira, Khalid and Elene took point for the approach to the farmlands, with Imoen and Xan further behind and Kivan stealthily bringing up the rear. Sure enough, as soon as they neared a grain silo leading up to the path to Nashkel, four human women emerged from behind the structure. They were heavily armed and ready for a fight.

“You there!” barked one of them, a burly woman in plate mail armour and a mace on her belt. “Do you travel with one named Elene of Candlekeep? Your answer better be the truth, for your life depends on it.”

Khalid surreptitiously positioned himself between the women and Elene even as Jaheira stepped forward. Xan’s sharp hearing caught the tell-tale sound of Kivan’s bow being drawn behind them. Hidden as he was, he had all the time in the world to pick his target and line up his shot. The Greycloak steeled himself as he tightened his fingers around the sand in his right hand, already targeting the other woman in heavy armour. It seems they were going to fight this one out, after all. He’d almost forgotten how much he hated direct confrontations.

“Watch yourself, girl. We are not going to tell you any of our names,” Jaheira retorted.

“Yeah, so why don’t you and your little amazons wander back to wherever you came from?” Imoen called out.

“You insolent pigs!” the woman spat as she stabbed a finger at Imoen. “You know not who you speak to. Your arrogance will cost you your lives.”

Xan threw the sand in the direction of his target and barked out a brief incantation. The woman wobbled on her feet before collapsing in a heap of metal, fast asleep. At the same time, an arrow flew from Kivan, piercing the opposite side’s bow-woman through the throat before she could even nock her own weapon.

_Two down._

The fight ended up being tough despite their early advantage. The spokeswoman was apparently a cleric who managed to keep Khalid at bay with a disorientating spell. After which, Elene had a difficult time getting through the woman’s defences. The final enemy was devastating with her darts, which Jaheira warned was poisoned. Xan recited an incantation to blind the dart-user, making her an easier target for Kivan and Imoen to deal with.

By the time they’d despatched those two, the sleeping woman had returned to consciousness and began casting her own spells. Xan tried to grasp a hold of her mind, but she managed to resist him. In the end, an arrow from Imoen was what it took to end the fight.

Elene winced as she stood over Imoen’s kill. “Remind me to get a helmet.”

She and Imoen rifled through the belongings of the defeated women while Xan opted to sit by the wayside. Although he did not do much in the fight, he now felt too drained to do more than observe and contemplate his surroundings. Jaheira was having difficulty healing herself as the poisoned darts made her wounds bleed much more heavily than usual, so Khalid had to staunch the blood flow for her to focus on spells. Kivan, as usual, had set off to scout the vicinity.

Xan stared at the corpses on the ground. These people meant business – if he and Kivan hadn’t tipped the scales of the fight early on, the situation could have easily gone pear-shaped for their group. His eyes then trailed the bodies to Elene, who was focused on stripping heavy armour off one of the bodies. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that these women were specifically looking for this girl. Who was she to have armed thugs pursuing her in the middle of nowhere? As far as he knew, Candlekeep was a human library fortress to the northwest, home to reclusive sages and scholars, not orphaned elven foundlings.

Curious as he was, he restrained the innate investigator’s urge to ask. He doubted he would be able to get a straight answer anytime soon. From what he’d observed thus far, he would need to earn this group’s trust first.

He could wait.

In the end, they walked away with a good haul from the fight. The leather armour of the bow-woman was enchanted and a perfect fit for Imoen while the dart thrower’s enchanted leathers could be repurposed to replace Elene’s gambeson. Jaheira took possession of the cleric’s plate armour, but the fit would need to be adjusted for her to move well in it. The poisoned darts were given to Xan to supplement his magic while a bundle of potions was kept by Jaheira.

As they departed, Xan noticed Imoen pull Elene aside to whisper, “Did you find one of them papers?”

“Only a Cyricist’s prayer sheet.”

“I didn’t find anything either.”

Elene nudged her friend. “He can hear you, you know.”

“Ugh.” Imoen threw her hands up. “You elves and your darned hearing.”

Xan quirked a small smile at that. The sharp hearing definitely was instrumental during his captivity, when Mulahey would mutter to himself at times or read correspondences aloud. He’d picked up a fair bit of information just laying still and listening. It was too bad this group was much more aware of that trait than his previous captor was.

“The path is straight from here on out. We will see the town soon,” Kivan informed them.

For the first time in a long time, Xan felt hopeful. A bath, a bed and a meal that did not consist of salted meat. He supposed that life wasn’t completely pointless when you had such things to look forward to.


	11. The rude awakening

Imoen smoothed out her skirt as she stepped into the inn’s common area. Grinning, she felt that the town’s seamstress really came through for her with the dress, especially given the short notice. The pink of the fabric went really well with her skin and hair and the fit was perfect. Combined with the flowers in her hair which she’d picked while on a stroll, she felt well prepared for the celebration in store for them.

_Bring on the dancing!_

The innkeep glanced at her as she entered. Despite them being in good standing with the mayor now, the man seemed nervous around them, especially Kivan. Maybe leaving a dead body in their room wasn’t the best way to make a good first impression.

“Let’s go while the night is young,” she exclaimed, causing her four companions to look up from their conversation at a corner table.

Unlike her, Khalid, Jaheira, Elene and Kivan were dressed in the usual clothing they wore underneath their armour. The only improvement from the norm perhaps was that they all looked fresh and pristine after a whole day’s rest in Nashkel.

After briefing the mayor on arrival the previous night, he was so pleased with the findings that he insisted on throwing a party in their honour, despite Jaheira’s best efforts to demur. And so it was, instead of leaving the town at first light, they were to present themselves to the Belching Dragon Tavern for a good food and free-flowing drinks at nightfall. Of course, some other details were discussed after the mayor declared them heroes of Nashkel but she’d tuned out by then and started planning for the party.

“You look lovely, Im,” observed Elene, smiling. “That dressmaker knows her stuff.”

“Well, ya could’ve looked ‘lovely’ too if you’d come with me,” Imoen nudged her as she joined them at the table.

Her friend chuckled, pulling up the scarf around her shoulders over her head. The addition of the scarf lent an air of mystery to her, Imoen thought. “I think it’s better for everyone if I went around unnoticed.”

“So…what are we waiting around for?”

“Xan hasn’t come out yet,” answered Khalid.

Imoen had almost forgotten about the elf. She hadn’t seen him after he retired to his shared room with Kivan the night before. Apparently, he had agreed to accompany them to Beregost to seek out this Tranzig person mentioned in Mulahey’s letters. Jaheira seemed to think that his magic and investigative skills would come in handy in rooting out the mastermind of the iron crisis, so that was that.

Jaheira leaned forward, looking straight at Imoen. “Remember to be vigilant, child. Those women who attacked us, they may have had allies here.”

“But I’m just a local girl going for drink and dance,” the girl replied with an innocent blink.

Elene covered her mouth to conceal her laughter while Kivan shook his head ever so slightly. Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh. Before she could say anything else, though, Xan stepped through the threshold.

Imoen almost goggled at the sight of him. He seemed like a different person altogether. All cleaned up, he was possibly one of the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with sharp features, alabaster skin and soulful eyes. The scratches and bruises previously colouring his flesh were gone and he’d cut his hair such that it hung neatly just below his chin. His new outfit was brighter in colouring, with an overcoat on top of his tunic and trousers, making him seem like a dashing nobleman.

She shot a sidelong glance at Elene. The other girl was also staring.

_Oh, this could be interesting._

“You clean up pretty well, eh?” Imoen grinned at him.

Xan’s jaw tightened minutely as he glanced down at his clothes. “As best as one could in this town.”

Jaheira stood. “Let’s get this over with. We have an early start in the morning.”

The night was warm, and the streets were littered with some handful of other people making their way towards the tavern. When they arrived, a few bards with music instruments were just about to get their act together as food and drinks began to be served at the tables for all to partake. Imoen spotted a group of young men and women on the other side of the tavern and knew that was where she needed to be.

“Looks like a full house,” Khalid commented.

“I’ll…maybe sit in the corner,” said Elene, drawing her scarf closer to conceal her features. Xan glanced at her with interest but said nothing.

Jaheira nodded. “We will be with Berrun.” She then gave Imoen a pointed look. “Be careful.”

Imoen returned the look with a beatific smile before moving off to join the group of young people in the room. Elene’s hand ghosted on her shoulder as she walked away. It would have been nice to have Elene with her, but her friend was the type to curl up at a corner table with a book while everyone was enjoying themselves, and that was even before the whole assassins-in-every-town issue. Maybe it was just an elf thing. Kivan and Xan also seemed sort of joyless, nothing at all like the merry elves in the books she used to read.

“Heya,” she announced as she joined the group of what seemed to be her peers. The women smiled looking at the flowers in her hair while the men watched her with interest. “I’m Imoen. What do you do for fun in these parts?”

And just like that, she made a few new friends. The rest of the evening went by in a bit of blur, interspersed with hearty pies, surprisingly good quality mead and a lot of weaving and swaying to the music of the bards. It was amazing. In her years in Candlekeep, there were very few people her age she could interact with and even less parties to attend. The people she grew up with could recite Alaundo’s hundred-page scriptures from memory but didn’t even know a basic three-step dance. She had Winthrop to thank for making sure she knew how to live life properly. With mead and nice clothes and dancing.

_I miss Puffguts. Wish he were here to see me._

She wondered if she could ever go back to Candlekeep for a visit once she was done with adventuring. Granted, she wouldn’t want to settle down and grow old there, but it would be nice to catch up with Puffguts, Hull and the rest, regaling them with tales of heroic exploits. Like solving an iron crisis, that definitely qualified as heroic!

Sitting down for a quick drink, she looked around for the others. Jaheira, Khalid and Xan were deep in conversation with Berrun and a few of what must be off-duty guards. Guards always had the same sort of look to them, she thought, stiff-shouldered with eyes full of suspicion. They huddled closely, completely ignorant of the on-going merrymaking around them. That table looked pretty boring, she concluded.

Further in the back close to the kitchens, Kivan and Elene sat next to each other, the former nursing a tankard while watching the latter try to awkwardly fend off an invitation from a keen lad. This didn’t surprise Imoen in the slightest, quite a few of the boys were asking after her mysterious elven friend. She considered the conversations she’d had that night for a moment. Well, to be fair, the girls were also asking after the elven gentlemen. A few had even tried to engage with Kivan earlier but got thoroughly ignored.

After about a minute of Elene trying to gently turn down her suitor, the ranger put his tankard down and said something brief to the lad, causing the young man to beat a hasty retreat. Even from a distance, Imoen could see the palpable relief in Elene’s posture. She smiled into her cup. For such a stern fellow, Kivan did seem to have a soft spot for her friend. It was probably just some kind of chivalry code or something, but it was good ammunition to tease her friend with anyway. She missed teasing Elene on silly things like this.

Grinning, Imoen stood, aiming to dance with a fellow she had an eye on earlier. At the same time, however, the Boring Table also got to their feet. Jaheira exchanged a warm handshake with the mayor before she, Khalid and Xan went to join Kivan and Elene in their corner. Imoen stood there torn momentarily, but in the end, she opted to proceed with her initial plan.

_There will always be adventurer stuff tomorrow, but this party is just for tonight. Elene will let me know if it’s important, anyway._

She managed to get through one full jig with Samson, a soft-spoken farmer’s son, before she heard a familiar whistle. Turning, she saw Elene wave at her from across the room, with Xan and Kivan chatting behind her. Khalid and Jaheira were no longer in sight. She gave an apologetic smile and curtseyed to Samson before going to Elene.

“We have to go, Im.” Elene looked apologetic as she approached. “Sorry you can’t stay til the end.”

Imoen sighed but gave her a wistful smile. “Hey, it was fun while it lasted.”

“I’m glad,” her friend reached over to squeeze her shoulder.

“Did you guys have _any_ fun at all?”

Elene let out a breathy laugh as she glanced at Xan and Kivan. Their blank faces said it all. 

Imoen took up the role of party spokesperson as they left, smiling and nodding at all the grateful well-wishers, feeling good about what they did for these people. The miners can go back to work now, and the women no longer needed to worry about losing fathers, husbands and sons to the depths. As a bonus, she saw that Elene looked relaxed for the first time since the day she’d left Candlekeep. Hopefully, they could build enough of a reputation to make those nasty people pursuing her think twice about attacking them.

Xan and Kivan walked ahead of them as they ducked out of the tavern, still conversing in elvish. The two elves were a study of contrasts, one polished and ethereal, the other rugged and earthy. She remembered studying about elves as a child to try to understand Elene better at the time. Xan was a high elf like her friend, and she could see some similarities in their elegance and thoughtful demeanour. Kivan, if she guessed right, is a wood elf. Tougher physique-wise, with coppery colouring and stronger affinity to the natural world.

Briefly she wondered about Khalid and Jaheira and the elven half of their heritage. Maybe she could ask Khalid in the morning. For now, she felt that her friend needed a bit more cheer to chase away the pensive expression she was wearing.

“So…I saw Jacob tried to ask ya to dance,” Imoen grinned. “Why didn’t you give it a try?”

“Oh, no, no. Dancing is not for me,” Elene waved her hands in front of her, palms outward in the universal sign of ‘no way’. “Worse, I would have to do small talk. What do I say? Oh hello, my name is Elene, slayer of kobolds, hunted across the Sword Coast for crimes unknown. So, Jacob, what do _you_ do for a living?”

“You could try dancing with Kivan then,” the rogue gave her an impish look.

Elene gaped at her, then shot a nervous glance at the two gentlemen ahead of them. “I…what? Did you have too much to drink?”

She wasn’t wrong, Imoen was feeling a bit tipsy. But she would never admit that.

“More like _you_ didn’t have enough!”

“Oh, Im,” Elene shook her head tiredly, “You know I can’t. At least not until we figure out what’s going on.”

Imoen bumped her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, ya big worrywart. Jaheira will figure it out. And now we have a Greycloak with us! They’re supposed to be some super investigators or something. He’s got a moonblade, so he must be real super.”

“Well, Greycloaks look out for elves. I suppose that can’t be a bad thing for me.”

“That’s right, positive thoughts!”

Elene put an arm affectionately around her. “And this is why I keep you around.”

“Oy! Miss Elf!”

Both girls paused and turned, Elene’s hand instinctively straying to her sword hilt. All of them went out with their weapons that night except for Imoen, something the rogue instantly regretted. But then, who brings swords to a party? They relaxed, however, when they saw a gangly boy hurry towards them with an outstretched hand. He couldn’t be older than fourteen summers. “Ye dropped this at yer table, miss,” the boy called out.

Elene and Imoen exchanged confused looks.

“Huh. Maybe it’s one of my components,” Elene shrugged, moving to meet the boy halfway.

Imoen threw a glance over her shoulder. Kivan and Xan had also stopped walking, watching her expectantly. She held out a hand, palm outward. _Wait up._

“Oh, aye, thank ye, miss. Thought I’d lose ye fer sure,” the boy breathed as he drew close to Elene. He opened his hand and presented her with something that Imoen couldn’t see in the faint lighting of distant torches. Frowning as she studied the proffered item, Elene half-turned to Imoen from a few paces away.

“Hey Im, did you drop a necklace…”

Before she could finish the sentence, the boy moved. His entire form flickered as he threw an arm around Elene and hauled her back towards him. Then, the illusion dropped completely. Instead of a gangly boy, a stocky man stood there in darkened mail. That was all Imoen could process before steel flashed in the man’s hand.

“Tazok sends his regards,” Imoen heard the man say to Elene, his voice like velvet.

Then just as Elene began to push backward into him to extricate herself, he drew a blade across her throat.

Imoen screamed.

In one smooth motion, the man released Elene and stepped back. The damaged was done, though. Imoen could only watch as Elene fell to her knees, hands around her ruined throat as she began to choke.

_This…this can’t be happening._

“Imoen, get Jaheira!”

Xan’s urgent shout startled her out of her shock. Following his command almost on instinct, she pivoted on her heel and began running in the direction of the inn, delicate skirts be damned. Behind her, the man spoke a familiar word of command. Three Magic Missiles hit her in the back in quick succession. Whatever remaining vestiges of alcohol in her system immediately evaporated in that instant. Yelping in pain, she stumbled but somehow managed to stay on her feet, even as she saw Kivan loose an arrow towards the man. Xan had already advanced with his moonblade, a hand outstretched with a glow building on his fingertips. She had to trust Xan and Kivan to finish the job. Elene needed Jaheira and she needed her _now_. That was all she thought of as she ran faster than she’d even run in her life.

Even then, the minutes it took for her to cross the small town felt like agonising hours. She barged into the inn like a gust of wind, shouting Jaheira’s name. Both Khalid and Jaheira were fortunately in discussion with the innkeep and they whirled around in surprise at her arrival, hands already on their weapons.

“What is it?” Jaheira demanded.

“Elene’s hurt! Come quick!” she told them breathlessly, then promptly turned around and started running back to the battle.

As she ran, her mind kept flashing back to the spray of blood as the man cut Elene. Was that arterial spray? Could her friend still be alive if it was? Does Xan know healing magic? She cursed as her eyes began to burn. Stupid, stupid! After all the caution and secrecy, how could they have been so dumb to fall for such a trick?

She saw Xan and Kivan huddled close to the ground as she drew up. A body lay on the ground nearby but it was too dark to discern whose it was. Coming to a skidding halt near them, she nearly burst from relief seeing Kivan cradle Elene while pressing a bundle of cloth to her neck. Xan was speaking softly above their heads. Imoen realised that it was some sort of spell to sedate Elene, who was struggling to breathe through the blood pooling at her throat. But she _was_ breathing. Her eyes were closed, yet her fingers were curled tightly around Kivan’s wrist as if she could help him staunch the blood flow.

_Thank Lathander, she’s alive!_

Jaheira arrived at her heel soon after. She thrust her staff to Imoen to free up her own hands. Xan stepped back to allow the druid space. As she knelt to take a closer look at Elene, a tense look was exchanged between her and Kivan.

“Lift it slowly,” Jaheira told him.

Kivan nodded and gingerly took the cloth off the wound. Jaheira went to work immediately, chanting the first of likely several healing spells. Belatedly, Imoen noticed that the bundle of cloth was Elene’s scarf. Putting the scarf aside, Kivan took Elene’s hand, placed it on her stomach and held it there. The girl did not resist. After a few seconds, she relaxed into unconsciousness, as if knowing she was in good hands.

“What happened?” Khalid was at her shoulder.

“Assassin,” answered Xan before she could think to say anything. He bent over the body of Elene’s attacker, head tilted as he considered something. “A skilled one. He would have gotten away if Kivan hadn’t hit him first.”

“He was disguised,” Imoen blurted. “He looked like a young boy, saying Lene dropped something. And then he grabbed her. He said, ‘Tazok sends his regards’.” At this, Kivan’s head whipped up towards her, causing Xan’s attention to flicker to him. “After that he got a knife out and…he slit her…” she trailed off, covering her mouth in horror recalling what happened.

Khalid put an arm around her. “It’s alright, Imoen. Jaheira has her.”

“Yes, I imagine your friend should be up by morning,” Xan commented, his tone nonchalant. “We wouldn’t have been able to defeat the assassin so handily if she hadn’t helped.”

“What?” Imoen was dumbstruck. “She…she was badly hurt.”

Xan smiled wanly at her. “On the contrary, she got up and put a few knives in his back barely minutes ago. Quite impressive for someone who’d gotten their throat cut.”

She turned to Kivan in disbelief. The elf looked about as unnerved as she felt.

“He speaks the truth,” he confirmed.

Silence fell upon the group for the following minutes, barring Jaheira’s soft chants. Imoen’s mind reeled. She knew what she saw, the scene had repeated itself in her mind’s eye with crystal clarity as she ran for help. By rights, her friend should be dead. No one walked away from a sliced throat. None of what Xan said made any sense.

“It is done,” Jaheira announced finally, sitting back on her haunches. She lifted her gaze to focus on Kivan. “Can you help me bring her to the Temple of Helm? I am unable to completely heal it, their priests may be able to do more for her.”

Kivan nodded, already gathering Elene up in his arms.

“I will inform the guard,” Xan offered, gazing in the direction of the garrison. “And ask if anyone in town knew him.” He gestured at the assassin.

“Good idea.” Jaheira wiped her hands on her tunic, her eyes flicking to the cooling corpse. “Khalid?”

“I will take care of it, dear.”

“Let us regroup at the Temple as soon as we can,” the druid took her staff back from Imoen. She grasped the girl by the shoulder. “Imoen, whatever happens, you stay with Khalid. Elene will be fine. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Jaheira, Kivan and Xan set off into the night. Imoen stood over the assassin and had her first good look at the man. He was a plain-looking fellow, the type you wouldn’t look twice at on the streets. Based on her once-over, he must have died from a stab through the chest. Oddly, there wasn’t much blood around his torso, as though the wound had been immediately cauterised. She shook her head. Elene’s blade can’t do that, so this must have been Xan’s handiwork.

Khalid had already relieved the assassin of his pack and was sifting through its contents. Imoen noticed that the man also had several rings on his fingers, and she could sense that his boots had a hint of magic in them.

_Okay, Imoen, it’s time to put up or shut up._

Rolling up her sleeves, she crouched down next to Khalid and got to work.


	12. The merging lanes

Thirst. That was the first thing Elene became aware of as she surfaced into consciousness. An unusual dryness permeated her throat, which felt raw and painful. She tried to swallow but found that everything in her neck area struggled to cooperate.

Then she opened her eyes. She was greeted with the symbol of a gauntleted hand with an eye in the middle emblazoned on the white ceiling. She blinked, disconcerted. Apparently, she was not in her room at the inn.

_Isn’t that the holy symbol of Helm?_

“Good morning.”

Moving just her eyes, she saw Jaheira sitting close by, already dressed in her leathers. There were more beds around the room, but they were empty. The bedding felt coarse and starchy, the room was generally spartan and smelled of herbs and disinfectant. Everything here reminded her of the infirmary in Candlekeep when she’d fallen seriously ill in her fourteenth summer. Gorion had sat by her bedside for those three horrible days as she recovered, perched close by just like Jaheira currently was. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the memory.

She tried to open her mouth to speak but Jaheira raised a hand to forestall her. The druid handed her a cup of water.

“Drink first.”

The water was heavenly, but she could only take tiny sips. She returned the still half-full cup to Jaheira when she was done. As she began to feel the water trickle down to her stomach, flashes of memory from last night made her bolt upright, her hand on her neck.

The boy with the necklace. Imoen screaming. Blood everywhere. The uncanny warmth in her hand as she pressed it into her bleeding neck and _willed_ her body to mend itself.

Just like in the mines.

“Imoen,” she gasped, “She alright?”

Jaheira huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “After what happened, you worry for her? She is unharmed. Fortunately, the elves were on hand to deal with the assassin.” She leaned forward in her seat. “It was a very near thing.”

The two women studied each other for some time, stuck in an impasse of sorts. Jaheira had a burning question on her mind while Elene had no idea how to explain herself without bringing up the incident in the mines. And the frightening dreams, the commanding whisper from her dreamscape which haunted her into the waking world, telling her that she _will_ learn. No doubt the druid would be upset that she’d kept such things to herself all this while. But with all the events in the past week, there was never a right time to tell her any of these things.

And the truth of the matter was, she was afraid that giving voice to her fears would make them all the more real.

“When I got to you, you were bleeding from the neck. Imoen said the assassin had cut clean through, and the damage was extensive. Yet the jugular was oddly intact.” The druid tilted her head. “As though it had been healed within seconds of the cut.”

Elene looked down at her hands but said nothing. So, Jaheira continued.

“That’s not all. The elves said they had trouble with the assassin, who seemed able to dodge projectiles with ease. But the tide turned when two daggers hit the man from behind. Where he least expected it. And why should he expect it? His quarry should have been dead by then, as befitting the work of a skilled blade.” Jaheira’s eyes narrowed. “Rather odd for a dead person to just get up and fight, don’t you think?”

“Quite…odd,” the girl replied, barely audible.

The silence stretched for a few minutes with Elene refusing eye contact. After a while, Jaheira sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Gorion used to write to us every year,” Jaheira remarked quietly, surprising her ward with the change in topic. “I never imagined him to be of a disposition to care for a child, but he spoke of you as though you were the best thing that ever happened to him. Likened you to a lodestar,” A wistful smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “He said you started commenting on his treatises in your seventeenth summer. One of his proudest moments as a parent, apparently.”

Elene swallowed. It didn’t hurt as much this time, but her chest ached something fierce.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Jaheira clasped her hands together, “You were the most precious thing to someone I held very dear. And he entrusted your safety to me and Khalid. We take the responsibility very seriously.” Here, she paused and levelled a meaningful look at the girl. “But we don’t know how to protect you if you keep secrets from us.”

After another long silence, Elene finally looked at her guardian. “I…don’t know how to explain it.”

“How do you eat an elephant?”

“…what?”

Jaheira quirked a small smile. “One bite at a time.”

Chuckling, Elene rubbed at her eyes tiredly. “Wise words. Perhaps…the rest should hear this as well.”

“Even the Greycloak?”

“Well. If he is to travel with us, he’d be exposed to the dangers of associating with me. Whatever that might be. He has a right to know.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Jaheira replied. She sounded neutral but Elene sensed that she was not comfortable with the decision.

“Is there…something wrong with Xan?”

The druid’s brows knitted together. “There’s nothing wrong _with_ him per se. But understand that everything he knows will make its way back to Evereska. I don’t care much for elven politics, but it may have a ripple effect on you later. Your kin have long memories.”

A wry smile was Elene’s response. “If I don’t survive in the short run, the long run won’t matter.”

“Ha. Spoken like a philosopher.” Jaheira rose, knees popping as she got to her feet. “Rest, child. I will get the others.”

Glancing out the far window, Elene guessed it was mid-morning. Breakfast time for Imoen, she thought fondly. She then gazed at her hands, the slim, dainty things that they were. There was power in them. If she was honest with herself, this power seemed to feed off the souls of people she killed. She’d read many histories, tales and legends during her studies, of vampires and liches that fed on souls, but never anything like this. Briefly, she wondered if Gorion knew something, but was simply unable to tell her before tragedy struck.h

_Don’t worry, I will tell you everything when there is time._

Sighing at the one of her last memories of him, she propped herself up on her pillow and thought about what Jaheira said. One bite at a time. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Sure, she could do that. Her special ability was out in the open now. There was no point trying to hide it from the people she would like to consider her friends.

In hindsight, she really should have come clean in the mines. She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint Jaheira.

After what felt like a long wait, Imoen burst through the infirmary door. Gone was the girl in the pink dress and flowers in her hair from last night, this Imoen was dressed in dark leathers taken from the woman hunter outside Nashkel, ready for serious work.

“You still alive in there, ya bufflehead? I was so worried for you!”

Elene chuckled as her friend perched anxiously on her bed. “I’m fine, Im.”

Imoen winced. “Does it hurt? Looks like it’s gonna scar.”

“Just sore.” Elene rubbed her throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It’s going to scar?

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Lene.” Imoen reached out to squeeze her hand. “We…shoulda seen that one coming, huh?”

“We’ll be more careful next time,” she promised.

Behind Imoen, Kivan, Xan and Khalid filed into the room before Jaheira closed the door. Khalid pulled another chair for himself, but the two elven men remained standing by the foot of her bed. Jaheira reclaimed her original seat by her bedside. Looking at each of them in turn, Elene couldn’t help but notice how tired they all looked.

“What happened…after, I mean?” she asked, concerned.

Jaheira answered. “As far as Nashkel guard is concerned, we helped rid the world of another blade for hire. The man’s name was Nimbul. He came in with the carnival troupe a few days ago then blended in with the local scenery, as you saw.” The druid exchanged a loaded look with her husband. “He had some…interesting papers on his person.”

Elene’s eyes widened and she looked to Kivan. “He said Tazok sent him.”

“We know,” Kivan replied, his face inscrutable. “Why is he after you, Elene?”

She frowned at him. “I told you. I don’t know any of these people or why they’re trying to kill me.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you are no ordinary young elf,” remarked Xan, his tone deceptively mild.

Kivan’s searching gaze was intense. “Who are you, really? Why would _he_ be after you?”

Elene flinched at the suspicion in his voice. It sounded foreign to her ears.

“What kind of question is that? She’s exactly who she says she is, Elene from Candlekeep. She was just a librarian!” Imoen interceded angrily on her behalf.

Swallowing, Elene steadied herself. She glanced at Jaheira, who nodded encouragingly. One bite at a time, right? “It’s…alright, Im. If it will help earn their trust, I will tell the whole story.” She paused. “And I was a scribe in training, if you please.”

So, she told them of how Gorion took her in after her mother died in childbirth, of her sheltered upbringing in Candlekeep, surrounded by men and women who had devoted their lives to the pursuit of knowledge. How she was only allowed to venture outside of Candlekeep for brief excursions to the nearby woodlands or beach after Imoen arrived in her tenth summer.

And yet, Gorion ensured she had the best education in all matters, going so far as hiring a dedicated swordmaster to teach her. In magic, Gorion taught her himself, even prepared multiple spell components for her in case she would have need of them. When Imoen came along, she also learned some sleight of hand to help her friend pull off pranks. Although frowned upon, she was never obstructed from learning that skillset from Imoen and the resident rogue, a cheery old halfling named Deder.

On an intellectual level, she always knew there was something a bit strange about herself. Elves didn’t mature that quickly, for one. Generally, parents encouraged their children to play outside, not shut them in with multiple tutors to crash course life skills they’d probably never need. She’d had trouble going into reverie for years when terrifying nightmares of war and death began plaguing her. But she was raised in isolation, away from her own kin. She had no real-life benchmark to compare to, only what she’d read in the library’s books. And yet as the years went by, she felt deep in her bones that there was a yawning schism between what she should be and what she really was.

Eventually though, she opted to don the robes of an initiate Reader, hoping that it would give her life focus, help calm the internal turmoil brewing in her. She’d entertained the notion of becoming a Lorekeeper, but Gorion discouraged her from the clergy without really explaining why.

“That’s the real reason why ya wanted to be a Reader? You never told me.” Imoen asked her quietly.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Elene offered a smile. “Honestly thought it was just an elf thing.”

Xan shifted at that, but he waved for her to continue when she sent him a questioning look.

Years went by in idyllic peace until the fateful day of their hurried flight from Candlekeep. Elene walked through the events that followed, with Jaheira and Khalid chipping in at certain points. She spared no details on the three bounty hunters they’d encountered, one at the Friendly Arm Inn, one in Beregost and one in Nashkel.

Her voice shook when she explained what happened with the bounty hunter who managed to slip into her room. A red haze seemed to hit her, pushing her to ensure the kill even after the woman was as good as dead. After which, she was visited by a vivid dream resembling the ones which plagued her as a child, only much more malevolent.

“That was on the night we left Nashkel?” Jaheira wanted to confirm.

Elene nodded, lowering her eyes. Jaheira pursed her lips but held her comment.

The elf girl skimmed through most of the event at the mines until she reached the part about Imoen’s wound from the flanking kobold. She described what she did as best she could, mentioning the warmth in her hand as she pushed that strange internal energy into her friend’s back. Even keeping her eyes down, she could feel five sets of eyes staring at her intensely as she finished.

“You…healed me? But how? You’re no cleric.”

“This explains much,” Jaheira remarked. “I thought the wound looked too shallow.”

A slew of questions was asked concerning what Elene did. Was it a conscious act? What did it feel like? Where did the energy come from? How did she feel after? Elene took the proverbial poking and prodding in stride, answering as best she could, which did not enlighten much. At the end of it, all of them looked about as baffled as she felt.

Kivan narrowed his eyes. “Did you dream after the Mines?”

“Yes. The night you saw me thrashing in my sleep.” Elene scrubbed at her face. “I saw Mulahey. Dead, bloated. His spirit was waiting in the dark for me to end him again.” She looked to the ranger imploringly. “But I didn’t want to. He was already dead, there was nothing to be gained from it. And then I felt something, I don’t know what it was, get _angry_ that I refused to do it. It was unnerving, like someone walked over my grave.”

“Did you use the same healing ability after Nimbul…you know,” Khalid asked.

“Well, yes in a way. The spark,” she gestured vaguely at her chest, “was stronger. I put my hand to my neck and the worst of the damage just slowly went away. I would’ve been dead in seconds otherwise.”

“How did you manage to get up and fight?” Xan wanted to know.

Elene glanced at him. “Honestly? I don’t remember much after I healed myself. Just…instinct. Next thing I know, I was in this bed and it was morning.”

Silence reined for a long while as her companions processed the new information. There were varying degrees of concern on each of their faces, but Xan merely looked contemplative, as if trying out several theories to fit her explanation. For her, she felt tired and as confused as ever, but at least now she also felt relief since the cat was out of the bag. It was a heavy burden to bear on her own. She was glad that she now had others to share it with.

“It is not an ‘elf’ thing, just so you know,” Xan said suddenly, his expression serious. “I am sure Kivan can attest to that as well. There is something unique about you, Elene. You were raised in utmost secrecy in an isolated fortress. There must have been a reason why. Your adopted father, are you sure he never gave any hint of your parentage?” The question was to Elene, but he glanced at Jaheira as he asked.

“Only that my mother was an elf from the High Forest. And that I look like her. My real father, he never mentioned.” She decided to take the cue from her kinsman. “Jaheira…did he ever tell you?”

“No, child.” Jaheira shook her head. “Your mother was someone he knew from before he met us. I’d asked him about it before but insufferable man that he was, he avoided answering.” The druid sighed. “Now I wish I’d pressed him harder on that.”

“We thought…if it didn’t matter to him, it shouldn’t matter to us,” Khalid added.

Kivan spoke up, “What about Gorion? Did he have enemies?”

“We cannot dismiss it out of hand. He had a prolific adventuring career,” replied Jaheira carefully.

“You mean he was a Harper,” Elene pointed out.

The husband-and-wife duo stared at her. Xan raised an eyebrow at that.

“What? Secret correspondences, unusual research, that _pin_.” Elene huffed. “I’m not stupid.”

Xan, Kivan and Imoen looked critically at the half-elves as they all came to the same realisation. They had been inadvertently working with Harpers all this while. Khalid cleared his throat, throwing a quick glance at his displeased wife. “We weren’t implying that, my dear.” He placated his ward. “You are…right about Gorion.”

“But ya said that armoured figure that attacked you…he wanted _you_ ,” recalled Imoen.

Elene winced. “I know. And now Tazok is after me. I don’t know if they’re linked.”

“They must be,” responded Kivan instantly. “This operation is too elaborate for that brute to come up with alone.”

“Everything seems to be tied together somehow, Elene. Your origin, your enemies, the plot engulfing this region,” remarked Jaheira. “I get a sense that the only way to solve your mystery is to get to the bottom of this iron crisis. As Kivan said, I doubt Tazok is the source of all this rot, but he is a key link to the real mastermind.”

“Then we gotta find Tazok,” Imoen concluded.

Xan interjected. “The name Tranzig appeared once again, this time in Nimbul’s letters. Apparently, he is Tazok’s trusted courier. He should know where the creature makes his base. We already know from Mulahey that Beregost is his transit point.”

“But why would this Tranzig want to speak with us?” asked Elene.

A quick look was exchanged between Xan and Jaheira, so quick she almost missed it.

“We can…persuade him to have a conversation,” he answered cryptically.

“Then we proceed to Beregost,” summed up Kivan. He gestured to Elene while looking to Jaheira. “When can she move?”

“By this evening, I think. We have all we need from this town. Unless you feel otherwise?”

“No. No, you’re right. We should get going soon,” said Elene.

“Elene, you must tell us if you get more of these dreams. I do not know what portents they bring but they are clearly a sign of something.” Jaheira reached out to squeeze her hand. “We will help you get to the bottom of this.”

“I…thank you, Jaheira. And all of you, as well.” Elene sighed. “I thought I was done for last night.”

“Too many close calls,” groused Kivan.

Elene spared him an apologetic look. Despite his gruff demeanour, he’d been the one to pick up the pieces for her after nearly all the bounty hunter attacks. He was under no obligation to protect her, and yet he did it anyway. It was almost good news to find out that they were now after the same person. That means they could hunt the beast together.

Xan canted his head as he considered something. “If they are looking for someone who looks like you, perhaps you should stop looking as you are.”

“Like get a disguise?” asked Elene.

“Or learn the right spell.”

Elene’s eyes widened as she shot Imoen an excited look. “Do you know it? Could you teach me?”

“I suppose I have the time today. Luckily for you, this spell doesn’t need components.”

“Can I learn too?” Imoen was also almost vibrating with excitement.

“Oh, might as well,” Xan sighed.

Jaheira got to her feet. “We will leave you to it then. We can meet at the inn at fourth bell.”

Nods of assent greeted her suggestion. As Khalid, Jaheira and Kivan took their leave, Imoen shook Elene’s forearm. “Before we head off later, I gotta show you the cool boots Nimbul was wearing. I think they’re perfect for ya, Xan said you can dodge arrows with them on.”

“Not completely,” Xan cautioned her. “The enchantment only warns you of incoming projectiles.”

“Oh? That sounds useful,” Elene smiled.

Xan studied her face as he extricated his spellbook from the folds of his overcoat. “If I may ask, how many summers are you?”

“Twenty.”

He blinked in shock, then seemed to quickly recover his wits. “You are correct. Elves do not mature this quickly.”

She nodded awkwardly, then opted to change the subject. “So, about this spell?”

As they eased into the impromptu magic lesson, she reflected on the past week. Despite the cumulative near-death experiences and the continuing challenges of living on the road, she felt like she was in a decent position. It was as if Gorion had invested in all those lessons to prepare her precisely for this life. Combined with the experienced companions sharing the path with her, she began to feel more confident that she would be able to survive this Year of the Banner after all.


	13. The needle in the haystack

_It took a while for him to realise that he was staring at his own hand, covered in dry leaves. Oddly, the fingers did not respond as they should when he tried to move them. They remained as they were – stiff and covered in dried blood._

_Taking a slow, shuddering breath, he looked around, moving nothing but his eyes. He was lying in a forest, with trees which shed their leaves with the shifting season. The chill of dawn made his breath flow out in small puffs and yet his body didn’t feel the cold. It wasn’t just his fingers, he realised. His entire body was stiff and unresponsive. He tried to swallow, but the attempt left him squeezing his eyes shut in pain. He laid there for a good long while, fighting to keep his breathing even as he gradually began to regain sensation in his body._

_Everything hurt. Badly. And yet the physical pain was a pale shadow compared to the pang in his chest when he remembered what had happened._

_Deheriana._

_Grunting, he painfully began the attempt to roll onto his front. His ribs screamed bloody murder in the effort. The pain was bracing but his will proved stronger in the end. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself until he was on all fours, breathing heavily. His shoulders shook from the effort, bright spots danced in front of his eyes. A few more moments were wasted blinking those spots away, until he was steady enough to look up and ahead._

_Another person was lying unmoving not far away, half covered by leaves. He had never been a religious person but in the silence, he began to pray to any God who would listen. And despite the deepening dread in his chest, he put one hand in front of the other and began his slow crawl forward, until he was right next to the figure._

_An elven woman lay in front of him. He could only tell she was an elf by the sharpness of her features and slender form, since both her ears had been cut off. Only scraps of clothing remained on her, the rest torn off by rough hands. Cuts and bruises bloomed across her formerly cream skin, now pale and bluish. The ground near her head not covered with leaves was stained dark from the blood that must have gushed out of her when they cut her throat. She was almost unrecognisable to him now, but for her eyes. Her unseeing eyes staring out into the deserted forest around them, as if waiting for the rescue that never came._

Kivan jerked awake in the gloom, throat tightening and eyes burning against his will. In the next seconds, he forced himself to recall the deaths he inflicted upon the bandits he’d hunted, their dying screams a cooling balm for his soul. He focused his thoughts on the grim satisfaction of the hunt and the hunger for more retribution on those who hurt him. Somehow, eventually, he managed to smother the unwanted swell of emotions. Gods, it had been months since he’d had such a painful reminder of that day.

He sat up in his bedroll. A few paces away, he could see Xan glance at him a moment before focusing back on the peripheries of the camp. It must be close to dawn if it was the wizard’s turn for watch. Looking around, the rest were still fast asleep. He exhaled slowly, glad that no one witnessed his close call. They may be friends, but he did not want his weakness on show for anyone.

“Must be a terrible memory to make you struggle so in reverie,” came Xan’s soft voice.

Kivan glared at him. Although Xan was a kinsman, his insight on this matter was not welcome.

“I’m taking a walk,” the ranger said instead, his voice still rough from reverie as he got to his feet.

Xan sighed. “Suit yourself.”

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, he stalked off to walk the perimeter. It was another warm night in Flamerule, the heat almost suffocating in recent days. He scowled as he distractedly traced the familiar inked pattern onto his forehead and chin. Nigh on two months had passed since clearing the Nashkel mines of vermin, and yet he felt that they were getting no closer to their quarry. His impatience was growing by the day.

The first two tendays were wasted waiting for Tranzig to surface in Beregost after they’d left Nashkel. Tazok’s courier was a slippery one, nearly giving them the slip when someone in town tipped him off that he was being hunted. Kivan developed a new appreciation for Xan once they had the eel in their grasp. He would have never expected a moonblade wielder to be so ruthless in his methods, but the elf lord got results with his mind-bending magic. Tranzig had coughed up names, timing and dead drop locations but even he did not know where the main base of operations was, despite Xan’s extensive probing.

The children were not there for the interrogation. Kivan was glad for that. He hadn’t made it quick. Jaheira and Xan stood by in stony silence as he made the man bleed out on the ground. Tranzig offered up any scrap of information he could think of to save his own neck, until the wretch realised that they had no intention of letting him leave with his life. Then the whimpering started. Xan finally had to step in to put the man out of his misery. They burned what was left.

Jaheira had given him a disapproving look after. He’d ignored her.

_She would never understand._

The first dead drop target Tranzig mentioned proved to be accurate, both in location and timing. They ambushed a group of bandits there to pick up an arranged package, leaving one alive. The only titbit they managed to glean was that their ranks were swelling with new recruits in recent months.

In hitting the first dead drop, they must have alerted the bandits that their courier had been compromised. By the time the party reached the second dead drop days later, a group of Black Talon mercenaries were already waiting for them. If Kivan hadn’t spotted the well-concealed tracks in time, they would have walked into a deadly trap – a kill zone surrounded by archers with magic arrows. The trail went cold there since Talons were not like typical brigands they’d faced before. Talons fought to the death.

“The Wood of Sharp Teeth stretches leagues to the north and east,” Elene had commented, rubbing the back of her neck as she pored over a map at camp after the encounter. “If these bandits keep moving their camp, we could be chasing their shadow for months.”

“We know they’re in these woods. They leave trails we can follow,” was Kivan’s simple answer.

In the month since then, they had been combing the woods northeast of Beregost pursuing signs of human traffic. Skirmishes were had with several bandit groups along the way, with encounters increasing the closer they moved to the main thoroughfares used by caravans heading to Baldur’s Gate. Some groups even had hobgoblins among their number. Jaheira and Xan were of the view that there was certainly a hidden hand guiding them. The patterns they moved in were too purposeful to be by chance.

“This operation smacks of the Zhentarim,” Jaheira groused.

Kivan could care less who was the puppet master behind the throne. As long as he got Tazok, he could die happy.

He spent the next hour patrolling a loose parameter around the camp, checking for tracks or signs of threats. Nothing promising in their vicinity, so they would have to proceed with moving west per the original plan. Along the way, if they unearthed interesting tracks, they would pursue that lead instead. Even if the beasts moved camps every so often, they would inevitably meet with at least a key raiding party based on their pattern. They needed to get their hands on someone who knew the location of the main camp. Xan could handle the rest.

Dawn had broken by the time he returned to camp. The rest were already up, either packing up or sleepily munching breakfast in the case of the girls. Elene looked up as he approached, flashed him a small smile. His eyes snagged on the pinkish line across her throat. Despite the best efforts of Jaheira and the priests in Nashkel, the scar would stand out for many years to come. He looked away, feeling suddenly angry. The sight of it reminded him too much of his past failure.

Khalid tore him a piece of bread as he sat next to the man. “Anything?”

He shook his head as he accepted his breakfast. “We continue west.”

“Hey, I have a good feeling about today. I’m sure we’ll find something,” Imoen encouraged him.

He kept chewing his bread.

“Well, as least one of us has a good feeling about all this,” Xan remarked under his breath as he settled himself beside his fellow elf. The mage then proceeded to sullenly bite into a piece of fruit.

Kivan was still unsure of what to make of Xan. On the surface, he seemed like an aloof highborn elf lord, with his impeccable bearing and vast knowledge. Yet he never once shied away from getting his hands dirty when it was necessary. He would have thought that the moonblade exacted certain standards upon its wielder, but it seemed that for as long as Xan’s actions were intended to achieve Evereska’s objectives, it was fair game. It made him a reliable ally for this leg of the quest. They had to be willing to do whatever it took to find Tazok’s hidden nest.

“Be prepared for trouble. We are getting close to the Coast Way, an artery for trade. Too tempting a target to leave alone,” said Jaheira.

“With our luck, we’ll probably run into more Black Talons,” Elene winced.

“Oof, not looking forward to seeing those guys again,” groaned Imoen.

Not much was said as they set out, each of them grim-faced at the prospect of either another fruitless day or a tough fight with Talons. Well, except for Imoen. She insisted that this would be a good day, the day things would start looking up.

The sun dawned early in Flamerule, they had many daylight hours to work with. He was a solid tracker, but even he could not find hidden tracks in the dark, Darkvision or no. They chased the sun through the day, the woods becoming less dense as the hours passed. Soon after Highnoon, Kivan paused when he spotted a discarded apple core. It lay barely noticeable at the edges of some wild undergrowth. Almost as though someone had thrown it there hoping it would be hidden beneath the unruly brushes, but it landed a few inches short of the target.

He whispered his thanks to Shevarash. So began the hunt.

From there, he caught fresh tracks of a group of people heading south. It seemed like a sizeable group, he thought, as he found more signs of their passage along the way. To him, it looked like a raiding party.

_Looks like Jaheira was right._

They followed the tracks at a brisk pace for hours, keen to catch up to their quarry by nightfall. Assuming the raiding party was made up of humans, as was the norm, their party would be at an advantage if they struck at night. Thanks to Nimbul’s magic ring, Imoen could finally see as well in the dark as her elven and half-elven companions. Hopefully, the advantage would be enough to counteract any strength in numbers the bandits had.

Yet as they neared the wooded area not far from the Coast Way monolith, Kivan’s sharp hearing began to pick up sounds of battle.

“Wait,” he stopped abruptly, holding a hand up.

Xan tilted his head to one side as he drew up beside him, almost cat-like. “Is that…fighting?”

“If they’re hitting a caravan, we must put a stop to it,” urged Elene, looking to Jaheira.

Jaheira’s mouth was set in a thin line as she thought. Then she exchanged a look with Kivan before nodding. “Weapons ready. Let’s move.”

A pitched battle greeted them as they approached the din of clashing weapons. Six men in shining plate mail armour had steel drawn against a large group of brigands numbering a few Talons among them, easily two dozen of them in total. The men’s plate armours had blazing red fists marked on the breast, like an insignia. Two more plate-clad men were already prone on the ground, black shafted arrows protruding from their bodies. It seemed that the bandits had tried to engage their opponents from a distance, but the arrows failed to eliminate the well-equipped force before they closed the gap. There was no telling who the armoured men were, their faces completely concealed in metal helms.

Kivan loosed his first arrow into a bandit’s chest as Jaheira, Khalid and Elene dashed forward to get into the melee. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Xan throw a handful of sand and sure enough, four bandits collapsed into unconsciousness. With that, their party and the armoured men made quick work of the situation.

As the last bandit fell, one of the armoured men raised his blade towards Khalid warily. His tone was crisp as he spoke, “Who are you and why have you come to our aid?”

The other five men likewise kept hold of their weapons and repositioned themselves, stances alert.

Khalid raised his hands in a placating manner. “We mean you no ill will. We are hunting bandits.”

“As are you, I’d wager,” Jaheira interjected, her gaze appraising. “I cannot see any other reason for a such a large patrol of Flaming Fist on these roads.”

Kivan wondered, who were these Flaming Fists? He’d never bumped into such patrols in his hunt.

For tense seconds, the armoured man stood unmoving. Then, he lowered his sword and raised the visor of his helmet to reveal a tanned human face, slick with sweat. Despite the obvious heat in his armour and the battle he had just been in, his expression was completely unperturbed.

“First good thing I’ve heard all week,” he said, deadpan. “Dare I ask why you’re hunting bandits? Are you mercenaries?”

“Of a sort, yes. We believe the bandit problem is linked to the iron crisis from Nashkel. There’s been enough evidence to support it. Now we seek the head of the snake,” Jaheira gave the man a level look. “Cut off the head and we may solve the unrest in this region.”

He frowned at her. “Wait, were you the group who rooted out the problem in Nashkel Mines?”

“Yep, that’s us!” Imoen piped up from beside Khalid, beaming.

Off to the side, Kivan saw Elene wince.

“How about that, we have some heroes here in the flesh. Some good may come out of this sortie, after all,” the man drawled, sheathing his sword with practiced ease. He signalled to the men around him to be at ease. “My name’s Sorrel, Corporal of the Third Company. I think my captain would like to have a word with you, about a bit of business. She’s at the base camp some hours away if you’re interested.”

“Well met, Sorrel. I am Jaheira,” the druid nodded at him. “Who is this captain of yours?”

“Officer Jessa Vai. She leads the Fist contingent in Beregost.” He spared a grim glance at his dead brethren as they were being taken care of by the other Fists. “Well, what’s left of it. We’re cut off from the Gate and our numbers are getting whittled down by hit and run attacks. If we don’t break the back of this operation soon, we’re going to be overwhelmed.”

Kivan raised an eyebrow at that. “Is there enough of you to mount an assault on their main camp?”

“If we can find it, sure,” Sorrel graced him with a cavalier smile, then turned to Jaheira. “So, Jaheira, are you up for a walk? Or do we part ways here with a handshake and a ‘good eve’?”

She shot a wry look at him. “We will come with you.”

“Good. Let’s get the rest of introductions done while we walk. I’d rather get away from this filth if you don’t mind.” He snapped his visor down and turned to walk off. His tone toughened when he addressed his men, “Gents, I suggest we give our brothers their last rites some distance from here, before anything else in the woods decide to drop by.”

“Aye, Corporal,” one of the men snapped off a salute and dutifully lifted one of the bodies.

“Two more. What a bloody mess of a week,” Sorrel muttered as they moved away.

“Flaming Fist, aren’t they mercenaries?” Kivan caught Imoen’s whisper to Elene as they walked.

“Yes but they’re more like law enforcers for this region, from what I’ve read. It should be ok, Im, they wouldn’t be after the blood money,” her friend assured her.

The journey to the Flaming Fist encampment was uneventful, with only a brief stop to bury the two dead Fists, which was greatly helped by the presence of Jaheira’s earth shift cantrip. She offered the party’s names to the Corporal as introduction and nothing else. Either he was not the curious sort, or he was desperate for allies, as he did not query further. Between them, they exchanged the observations they’d made on recent bandit activity, comparing notes. They concluded that north was where they had to go to find the main camp as his platoon had cleared the area to the west and their own group had cleared the east. Kivan filed away this nugget of information. Perhaps these humans had some skill, after all.

As evening drew close, they neared a clearing in the woods surrounding the Coast Way. Even from some distance, they could see that the encampment was bustling with activity, with men talking among themselves, maintaining armour and sharpening blades. Kivan resisted wrinkling his nose at the aroma of gruel, likely to be the dinner served in this place. Easily three dozen men were camped there, many of them still clad in full armour. The whole set-up looked almost military in its ordered chaos, with everyone busy performing tasks even while chatting.

Despite Sorrel’s jaunty manner, his band was no ragtag mercenary group, Kivan realised.

“Anchorome is where the brave go to die,” Sorrel called out to the sentries, likely a passcode of sorts.

“Welcome back, Corporal,” answered one of them.

The men from the camp tensed at the sight of the newcomers but made no move to engage as they saw Sorrel in the lead. A few of them stood out as different from the group, like a grey-haired man in worn leathers and a blonde man who wore plate mail absent of the Flaming Fist insignia. Even stranger, a dwarf sat sharpening his axe close to a bubbling cauldron of food, accompanied by a young man toying with a lute. Behind him, Kivan sensed Elene shuffle closer to him for cover. He hoped she was right about these people being law enforcers and not coin-driven mercenaries. If she was wrong, they wouldn’t be walking away from this camp alive.

“Aye, Sorrel! You’re back in one piece!” barked a cheerful-looking bearded man as they drew close. “With new friends, no less.”

“Try not to sound too surprised, Kent,” Sorrel replied dryly as he took off his helmet. He turned to give their group a once-over, wiping at the dark hair plastered on his forehead. “Right then. This way to the Captain. Lads, mind getting me something to eat? Won’t be a minute. And by Tymora, it better not be whatever slop they’re cooking over there.”

Sorrel’s platoon members trudged wearily to join Kent and his merry group, who sobered when they realised the platoon was short a few men. Wordlessly, Sorrel led Jaheira and her companions to a large tent at the other end of the camp. At the tent flap, the man cleared his throat before announcing himself.

“Officer Vai, Corporal Sorrel reporting in. I bring tidings.”

Silence. Then, from within, Kivan could hear the rustle of papers being put away before a woman poked her head out through the flap. Her boyish hair was the shade of sunset but her most defining feature was her shrewd green eyes. She blinked at the sight of six armed strangers standing with her Corporal.

“And other things, apparently,” she said, recovering quickly. She scrutinised the newcomers as she stepped out from her tent. “Do you mind explaining, Corporal?”

Sorrel reported the day’s events in succinct, clinical fashion, culminating in the battle and subsequent loss of two of his number. Vai’s lips thinned at the news. Jaheira waited for him to conclude before introducing herself and her companions.

“Thank you, Sorrel, you’re dismissed. Good work,” Vai gave the man a curt nod.

“Aye, captain,” Sorrel saluted her and sauntered off to get his dinner.

“I’ve heard of you,” said Vai once he’d left, her eyes lingering on Elene for a second before refocusing on Jaheira. “My sources in Beregost told me you were in town a few weeks ago. You disappeared before I could reach out.”

Jaheira flicked a quick glance at Xan, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Worry not, I bear no ill intent,” Vai raised a hand placatingly. “But I am not ashamed to admit when we need help. My contingent was garrisoned in Beregost to counter the Amnian muster in Nashkel. But we haven’t received new orders for more than a tenday and to be honest, I don’t like the feel of this at all.”

“The bandit raids have been getting worse since you solved the problem in Nashkel. I used to think they were just your usual brigands out to make a quick buck in troubled times but not anymore. They keep hitting specific caravans, especially those carrying iron and steel, and yet most food supplies can travel the roads unmolested.” A bemused chuckle escaped Vai’s lips. “I have never heard of brigands being so selective. More signs are pointing that these raids are targeted and at someone’s direction.”

“Why are you stationed here and not in town?” queried Jaheira.

“Because the town doesn’t need protection. The roads do. I’ve been roping in freelancers to help me get to the bottom of this mess. We must find the one giving these brigands orders, or this cancer will keep spreading. I want this region cleared before winter comes.” Her brows furrowed in concern. “The last thing we want is a supply crunch in deepwinter. We would have angry townspeople on our hands.”

“Not your forte, is it?” Xan remarked casually, but a hint of edge remained in his tone. Kivan wondered what he was getting at.

“I would prefer to deal with brigands than civilian unrest any day of the month, master elf,” was Vai’s cool answer before she addressed Jaheira. “As I said, I have several freelancers on board. We have a hunter, Aoln, who’s very familiar with these woods, but more help would be welcome. If you could lend your aid in our search, I will pay you 50 gold for every bandit you kill in our service, and a bonus if you succeed in finding their main camp.”

Kivan’s eyebrows went up at that. “And how would you know how many we’ve killed in your service?”

“Easy enough,” shrugged Vai. “Sorrel goes with you.”

A fair arrangement, Kivan thought. He doubted the man in question would be thrilled about it, though.

“The plan is this. We send out platoons to patrol and look out for the right trails. If something promising surfaces, we deploy. If not, we regroup here.” Vai paused. “But we will have to move this camp soon, we’ve been here for days.”

“How would we know where you are?” asked Khalid.

“The bard, Garrick, will let you know. He has a spell that can send messages to you wherever you are. Useful fellow, if a bit soft in a fight.” She glanced over at the man with the lute they spotted earlier. Then she turned serious. “So, what say you? Shall we work together?”

Jaheira looked to her husband. Some non-verbal communication must have taken place between them as she nodded after a moment. “We will take you up on your offer, Officer Vai. But we also have a…request we think you can help with. Something for your ears alone.”

“Oh?” Vai tilted her head with interest. “Do tell.”

The druid stepped closer, and with lowered voice asked, “How much do you know about local bounty notices?”


	14. The unexpected find

He was watching again.

Elene kept her gaze locked on the last sentence in her journal. A pointless exercise really, since the words would not flow. Not with someone observing her. Again. The first night at the Fists’ encampment, she had to put up with plenty of staring. After some days of sharing campsite though, the men eventually lost interest when she flatly ignored them, just as Jaheira advised. Not all the occupants of the camp were Flaming Fist soldiers, though.

Ajantis had joined the Flaming Fist free of charge in hopes of bringing the bandits who maimed his mentor to justice, through the courts or by the sword. Briefly, she tried to recall the brief chats she’d had with the paladin of Helm. There was nothing in what she said that should attract any particular interest. She was a young woman trying to survive in the world after brigands murdered her father. It was a generic enough story. Yet why did she keep drawing his gaze? She glanced over at Imoen across the campfire, who was shamelessly flirting with Garrick, the unendingly upbeat bard. Surely Imoen and her antics were much more interesting to look at, she thought.

“Taking notes from your friend?” came Xan’s dry voice.

Elene put down her journal with a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “I’d need magic to achieve the same effect, I think.”

He gave her a critical once-over as he sat next to her. She was glad that he no longer seemed like the broken, haunted man she found in the Mines. “Draw on the Weave just to capture the attention of a man? Surely you’ve been taught better than that.”

“I was joking, Xan,” she replied, shaking her head.

Xan was a good teacher but what he had in knowledge, he lacked in sense of humour sometimes. Even so, their lessons had been going well since Nashkel, with her picking up the nuances of casting spells stronger than cantrips and Armour such as the techniques and control needed for them. Imoen even joined some of the lessons. The girl was now able to cast Prestidigitation at will, much to Jaheira’s annoyance. The ability to cool water in summer was a useful trick, but the random shower of sparks or shows of magical pink animals dancing in her palm, the druid could do without.

“I certainly hope so.” Xan paused to study her. “Are you alright? You seem…tense.”

“Oh. Yes, well,” she flailed about in her head for an excuse until she found something passable. No point tipping him off about Ajantis. “A bit frustrated with our search, I suppose. We’ve been working with Officer Vai for a tenday, but we still can’t seem to find hide nor hair of the bandit leaders.”

“Don’t you start turning into him now,” he said, nodding towards Kivan just returning from a scouting foray. Their kinsman’s face made thunderclouds look cheerful. “If the number of bandits we’ve killed the past few days is a sign, I would venture that we’re getting closer. We just need to keep our wits about us. It will not be easy to put down this beast, even with Vai’s help.”

Elene hugged her knees close. “How many bandits do you think we’ll be up against?”

“Insurmountable numbers, no doubt,” he scoffed. “I wonder everyday what folly we are walking into.”

“Then…why are you still here?” she tilted her head at him.

“Duty,” he sighed even as his fingers brushed the hilt of his moonblade. She watched as the pommel gem seem to glow slightly at the contact. “I cannot return to Evereska until I have clear answers. Just as Jaheira and Khalid must see this through to report to _their_ superiors.” After a moment’s thought, he shifted slightly, then gave her one of his piercing looks. “And you, Elene? Why do you still pursue this? Vai said no new bounties have come up for you. You could hide out in Amn until the old bounty notices fade away. While we figure out this plot.”

She rested her chin on her knees, thoughtful as she stared into the campfire. The merry crackling of the flames did nothing to brighten her mood.

“Vai also didn’t know who was putting up those notices. I don’t know what I don’t know at this point. What if I have enemies in Amn, after all? What then?” A sigh escaped her. “As dangerous as this path is, living in ignorance is a bigger risk. I need to find out who’s after me. And the only one who can answer now is this bandit leader.”

“And if he doesn’t have the answer, what then?”

“I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there,” she answered glumly.

Silence reined between the two companions for a while even as the bustle of the camp continued around them. When she lifted her gaze towards him, he was scrutinising her with a bemused expression, like he couldn’t quite puzzle her out.

“Did I say something wrong?” she arched an eyebrow at him.

Slowly, he shook his head. He looked almost sad. “I am…surprised at how well you are handling this. Were you of Evereska, this position you find yourself in would not have been allowed. You are far too young to be facing such dangers.”

“Unfortunately, the choice was never given to me.” She picked up her journal and dusted herself off as she got to her feet. “Well, I’ve prepared my spells. Time to turn in. Have a good evening, Xan.”

He nodded at her as she left. In truth, she’d had no intention of retiring for the night. It was simply that his attempts to draw her into conversations on Evereska or even “elven-ness” in general always made her uncomfortable. By rights she should feel the most kinship with him, another high elf. And yet, she felt alienated every time it was pointed out that she did not fit the right ‘elf mould’. It was jarring, the validation of the self-doubt she’d experienced growing up, a sheltered child in Candlekeep, that there was something inherently wrong with her.

And there _was_ something wrong with her. Once she hit her stride in battle, she was almost unstoppable, shifting from one target to the next with ruthless efficiency, focusing only on organs, joints, arteries, like those anatomy diagrams Bendalis used to show her. The past few days’ patrols, she barely thought of the bandits she cut down as living beings. Combat almost felt like clockwork, moves and countermoves until the other person was dead.

_Killing doesn’t feel so intense now, just something that needs to be done. What does that say about me?_

_Nothing good._

Khalid was already preparing himself for sleep as she approached their group’s makeshift circle to rest. Vai was considerate enough to spot them close to her tent, which made their resting place more secure than if they’d been at the edges of camp. Jaheira had wondered if it made them easier to monitor, but Elene thought she’d give the captain the benefit of the doubt. She flashed Khalid a warm smile as she settled into her bedroll.

“Hang on, Jaheira told me to give you this,” Khalid stammered, reaching into his pocket.

“What is it?” Elene asked, curious.

He handed her a small pouch. “Herbs. Put them where you rest your head, should help you rest better.”

“I…” she stared at the pouch, “Is it that obvious?”

A sympathetic smile was his answer. “It’s alright, dear. It can’t be easy for you. I hope the herbs will help some, at least.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed. “My thanks to Jaheira as well.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You will tell us if you have more strange dreams, won’t you?”

“Yes. Of course,” she nodded.

Her smile to him felt especially forced in that moment. Yet he left it at that to retire for the night. She opened the pouch and found sprigs of chamomile and lavender within. It smelled calming, pleasant even, as she lay her head down. For a painful moment, she was reminded of Phlydia and her lavender perfume. She wondered how the aged scholar was doing back in Candlekeep, of who would find her misplaced books for her now that both she and Imoen were no longer around. That night, she closed her eyes reliving the Great Library, its high shelves and dry tomes, and a random cookbook wedged between Alaundo’s writings.

Though she arose before dawn with chamomile in her hair, she didn’t feel particularly rested. She knew without checking in a mirror that dark circles had taken residence under her eyes. No dreams, at least. She gingerly eased herself out the bedroll to avoid waking Imoen, smiling as she glanced at her friend’s sleeping profile.

Kivan was already up, as was his wont. He wordlessly handed her dried rations when she came to sit beside him near the edge of camp. This early in the day, only the sentries were awake. The forest was still.

“What’s the plan today?” she asked the ranger as she ate.

He gazed off into the distance, beyond the trees surrounding them. “North, for now. Unless Aoln finds something.”

Among the freelancers recruited by Officer Vai was a local hunter named Aoln, a middle-aged man who made a living selling animal pelts. His keen familiarity with this region’s wilds made him valuable in figuring out movement patterns and minute disturbances in the environment. He could give even Kivan a run for his money, but she’d never say that out loud.

“He’s still out there?” she looked up in surprise. “Didn’t he come back with you last night?”

Kivan shook his head.

“Oh.” Images of the last slaughtered caravan they found flashed through her mind. “I hope he’s alright.”

“I will look for him if he’s not back by dawn.”

“Alright. I’ll come with you.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes alighting briefly on her neck. “Best if you stay with the group, Elene.”

“Why? I can move quietly like you,” she asked, confused.

“If I’m caught, the worst they can do to _me_ is kill me.” He shot her a grim look. “Do you understand?”

She stared at him for a good few moments before it clicked, what he was implying. Then she frowned at him. “I won’t get caught.”

Kivan shook his head. “You young ones…”

“I’m not a child, Kivan,” she told him indignantly.

“And I’m not arguing with you.” He turned away.

She watched him with narrowed eyes, fuming in the ensuing silence. Since the close call in Nashkel, Kivan had been keeping a tight rein on her. He didn’t allow her to be there for Tranzig’s interrogation. He forestalled any attempts she made at scouting on her own. And now she couldn’t even shadow him to search for Aoln. Did Jaheira put him up to it? She honestly wondered. After Gorion died, Kivan became the one who most encouraged her to learn and get better, yet now he was the one holding her back.

As she racked her head to think of counterarguments on why she should be allowed to go with him, she didn’t notice Sorrel until he plonked himself down next to her, already kitted out in full armour. She flinched in surprise, earning her a mildly amused look from the Fist.

“You’re jumpy,” he commented.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” she murmured.

“So much for elves and sharp eyes,” Sorrel huffed a short chuckle before taking a sip from his hip flask. He pointedly ignored Elene’s sceptical look. “Not like Aoln to stalk off into the night with no word. Officer Vai probably wants to send a group to look for him soon. I’d wager she’ll pick our group to do it.”

“Only because we have the only ranger left,” Elene glanced at Kivan.

“Well, there’s that,” Sorrel scratched at the growing stubble on his chin, “There’s also the fact that the other group move like monkeys with bells on, the amount of noise they make.”

The other group consisted of the other freelancers and a few Fists. Besides Aoln and Ajantis, there was Kagain, the dwarven boss of a local mercenary company which ran protection jobs for caravans. Intimidating fellow, he had no interest in anything beyond finding out what happened to one of his missing caravans.

Balancing out the cantankerous dwarf was Garrick the bard. Imoen immediately took a shine to him. Not surprising, given they were about the same age and he was so boyishly handsome that he looked completely out of place in the current setting. He was also cheerful to a fault, always ready with a tune or a little remark to brighten up the situation. But his main function, a key one, was to ensure messages get passed seamlessly between the camp and patrol teams. A few in the camp, Sorrel in particular, wished the bard could fill that role with much less pomp.

_Then he wouldn’t be a bard, would he._

“You’re not that subtle either,” Kivan pointed out to the Fist.

“I’d like to see how subtle you are carrying sixty pounds of steel,” came the whipcrack response.

Elene smiled, anger forgotten in the face of Sorrel’s unique brand of banter. He wasn’t pleased to be assigned away from his men at first, but he’d adjusted quickly. Over the days they travelled together, she noticed that his glibness was counterbalanced with cool pragmatism and quick handling of his sword. Certainly an ally who could do more than count dead bandits. He did, however, fight bandits with almost the same fervour Kivan did. She wondered if there was a story there, too.

“Come to think of it,” Sorrel leaned forward suddenly, an odd gleam in his eyes. “We could go look for him now. Wouldn’t hurt to get a head start to the day.”

Kivan flicked a derisive glance his way. “You can’t even see in this darkness.”

“Neither can Aoln, but he’s out there,” he gestured at the trees around them. “Besides, that’s what you two are for, isn’t it?”

Elene perked up at the opportunity. “Maybe we should go look now. What if he’s in trouble?”

“Elene…” said Kivan warningly.

“We can take a few more with us,” she suggested.

“Safety in numbers? Not a bad idea. Hey, Godric,” Sorrel called out to the nearest sentry. “You can see in the dark, can’t you? How about coming with us?”

“I’m on watch, Corporal,” the sentry, a bored-looking half-elven man, replied.

“Then get someone else up to take your place. I need your eyes for this. Up, up.”

A tall and broad man trudged over to them, his fingers still sleepily fastening the straps on his armour. “What’s going on? An attack?”

“Ah, the Helmite,” Sorrel remarked in pleasant surprise. “Fancy joining a search party for Aoln?”

“He’s not back yet?” Ajantis’ eyebrows went up at that, now fully awake.

Elene shot Kivan a hopeful look. His only response was a long-suffering sigh.

So, they set out, the two elves with Sorrel, Ajantis and dutiful Godric bringing up the rear. Elene wondered if Jaheira would be upset with them striking out on their own like this. But surely someone needed to be sent out to check on Aoln. He wouldn’t stand a chance if he ran into a group of Talons on his own.

The forest was quiet but for the sound of insects in the night. Being close to dawn, the moon was no longer prominent in the sky, making it exceptionally dark under the canopy of the trees. It was of no trouble to her, but the two humans in their midst advanced with great caution to avoid tripping as they walked. Kivan led them forward in complete silence, sometimes stopping to crouch over the ground for long minutes before choosing their next path. She stayed close, peeking over his shoulder every now and then, but she could not discern any of the patterns he saw on the earth. Perhaps this was the sort of knowledge one couldn’t learn from books.

After a long stretch, Kivan halted, his hand raised even as his eyes remained trained on the ground. He seemed almost confused by what he was looking at. The rest of their group hung back for his signal. Although there was no sign of any threat, the air crackled with tension, as if waiting for something to happen. A few long moments later, the ranger half turned and whispered in elvish to Elene.

“Can you sense magic?”

She started. “Here?”

Kivan nodded, then began studying their surroundings, moving only his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she flexed her fingers as she attuned her senses to the surrounding. Now that he’d pointed it out, she began to notice the faintest hint of the Weave close by. She concentrated harder, angling her body to the right, following the traces of magic until she noticed an area a few dozen feet away that seemed unnaturally darkened.

She pointed. “There.”

A heavily cloaked person burst out of the darkened area, bolting away from them and into the trees. Kivan kicked off in pursuit a half breath later. Surprise made her hesitate, but she was on his heels quickly enough along with the other three men. She fervently hoped it wasn’t a trap.

The chase didn’t last long. Their quarry was fast but Kivan had longer strides. When he drew close enough, he launched into a tackle, taking the person down in a heap and quickly restraining their hands before they could draw any weapons. Elene unsheathed her sword and levelled it at the person’s head, putting an abrupt halt to their struggling. Grunting, Kivan pulled back the person’s hood to reveal the face underneath.

They both stared.

A drow woman was seething up at them.

“Drow filth!” spat Kivan. “Why are you here?”

“I do not answer to a _male iblith_ ,” the drow bit back, defiant despite her position.

Elene continued to stare even as the rest caught up behind her. The woman was stunning, with dusky skin, exotic features and haughty crimson eyes. Her beauty was marred only by a swollen cheek and a cut on her lip, as though she’d been struck repeatedly across the face. She tried to hide it, but fear lurked in her eyes. This woman had gone through some kind of ordeal recently. Despite all the horrible things she’d read about drow and how she was supposed to hate them on sight, she could only feel a swell of sympathy for the other woman.

“What happened to you?” Elene found herself asking instead, to Kivan’s chagrin.

“I will say nothing until you call off your dog,” the drow growled.

Kivan twisted her wrists behind her, earning him an anguished cry. Elene flinched at the sound, disturbed by her friend’s sudden brutality.

“I think that’s enough, elf,” Ajantis admonished him quietly.

Sorrel approached them, studying the woman closely. “Wouldn’t have thought these brigands to have drow among them.”

“I am no brigand! I have done nothing wrong!” she gasped.

“You expect us to believe that?” Kivan scoffed.

Elene raised a hand to forestall her hostile companions, worried at the direction the encounter was going. She went down on one knee but kept her sword trained on the woman. “Look, we don’t want to hurt you. But we need to know what you’re doing in these woods.”

The drow watched her for a long moment, eyes like burning hot coals. Then for some reason, she seemed to deflate, as if weighted down by great fatigue. “I…was running from a group of men.”

Elene kept her eyes on the drow even as she sensed glances being exchanged over her head.

“Who were these men?” she asked.

“Bloodthirsty louts, dozens of them,” huffed the drow. “Dressed all in black. They caught me as I tried to cross Peldvale. I escaped but they’re not far behind. So, let me go,” she pushed back against Kivan still restraining her, “Lest we all end up as arrow fodder.”

Ajantis’ jaw tightened. “Are they close by?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. A fool man tried to help me, drew them off my trail a few hours ago.”

“This man, what did he look like?” Sorrel demanded.

The drow frowned up at him. “Human, light-haired. He carried a bow.”

“What happened to him?” Elene prompted.

“I don’t know. But he could not have faced them and lived.”

A troubled silence followed as they all digested this new information. Her explanation tallied with the hours Aoln had been missing. Worse still, the camp was not far away. If their enemies closed in, it would not be long before their base of operation was discovered.

“This one,” Kivan jutted his chin at the drow, “Leaves too obvious a trail where she goes. The Talons will come this way soon.”

“We need to warn the others.” Sorrel’s voice was grim. He looked to Godric, who was still staring wide-eyed at the drow. He cuffed the other Fist hard on the shoulder to snap him out of it. “Get back there, double time. Prepare them to fight.”

“Aye, Corporal!”

Godric turned and sprinted back the way they came, vanishing into the darkness within seconds.

“What about us?” Elene stood, sheathing her blade.

“Our objective hasn’t changed. We find Aoln.” Sorrel gestured to their captive. “And now we have ourselves a guide.”

“You want to _go after_ those louts?” The drow gaped. “You rivvil are mad!”

“Get her up, we need to move. Gag her if you must,” Sorrel replied coolly.

Kivan pulled the woman roughly to her feet, his one hand enough to restrain both her wrists. She began struggling again even as she threw curses at them in her native language. Elene put her hand on Kivan’s arm when she saw him reach into his pouch for a makeshift gag.

“Please, we don’t have to do it like this,” she whispered to her kinsman.

He scowled at her. “She is a drow. No better than the beasts we hunt.”

She sighed then turned to the other woman. “Listen, we don’t need to be enemies. If you cooperate with us, I promise you better treatment than this. Will you help us find these men? We may not look like much, but we can take care of them when the time comes.”

The drow looked at her sceptically before slowly nodding.

“Good,” Elene gave her a tentative smile. “What is your name?”

The woman raised her chin as she answered, “Viconia.”


	15. The shot in the dark

Jaheira sipped her tea, mentally cursing hot-headed elves.

She’d known of the other hunter not returning after patrol. It was something of a concern in her discussion with Vai and Kagain this morning, since Aoln was an asset for their group. But for Kivan to go look for him without telling her, with Elene in tow, was thoughtless in the extreme. The poor sentry she interrogated also mentioned Sorrel took Ajantis and one of the Fists on watch with them. Small blessing there. At least they could withstand a few extra minutes in a fight rather than be immediately annihilated.

“They’ll be back soon, dear. Kivan should know not to stray too far,” comforted Khalid.

She glared at him over the rim of her cup, memories of Tranzig’s interrogation flashing through her mind. “That elf’s judgment has been questionable of late. He would stop at nothing if Tazok was within reach. Even if it means getting everyone killed.”

“You don’t really believe that,” he replied. “We can both see he looks out for Elene, in his own way.”

“That girl looks up to him far too much,” groused the druid, implicitly conceding the point.

Khalid cracked a small smile. “She has a good head on her shoulders. If anything, I’d say she’ll be the one to temper him when the time comes. She can have that effect on people.”

“Hmm. We will have to see about that.”

Most of the camp was already awake to welcome the first streaks of light in the sky. Heavy mist hung in the air that morning. Despite the reduced visibility, they were going to move their base very soon. Vai sensed that they were getting close to their target and may need to break into smaller groups, splinter off into a few platoons. Their resources would be more difficult to coordinate but doing so reduced the likelihood that they would be discovered. If the bandits figured out the size of the force pursuing them, they will scatter to the four winds once more, bringing their efforts back to square one.

Jaheira cast her gaze around the camp for the two other members of her group. Xan had been up for hours, equally annoyed at Kivan and Elene for their impulsiveness, having missed their departure by mere minutes. Despite his expressionless face, the druid could tell the enchanter was still fuming about it. Imoen was bent over her pack, looking unusually withdrawn. Worried about her friend, perhaps. The past months have shown her the real dangers of “hero-ing” work, that worse things than death awaited those who could not defend themselves.

Xan stood abruptly at the edge of the camp, tilting his head slightly before calling out, “There are people running, coming this way.”

A hush fell over the camp, followed by jostling and clattering as all present scrambled for their weapons or armour. Vai shouted for a vanguard to head off the possible attack. Jaheira grabbed her staff and strode over to join Xan, rattling off some quick prayers to Silvanus in her head. Khalid was close behind.

Near Xan, the dwarf Kagain had also jumped to his feet, hefting his axe. “Which way?”

Xan pointed north. Kagain and two nearby Fists stormed ahead in that direction to act as the vanguard. Imoen winked at Xan as she ran past with her bow. As Jaheira moved past, he gave her a grim look before following her and Khalid.

In the end, there was no real need for so many to rush to the camp’s defence. The actual encounter happened and ended in seconds.

A man in distinct Fist armour came barrelling through the trees, sword in one hand while the other cradled his right side, where an arrow protruded. The Fist solider made a relieved sound when he caught sight of Kagain and his comrades. Further behind him, there were men in pursuit, but they hadn’t caught sight of the welcoming party yet, thanks to the mist that hung heavy over the forest.

Kagain didn’t give them a chance. He rushed forward while manoeuvring his axe, then threw the weapon at the first pursuer coming into his line of sight. Even at quite a range, the dwarf didn’t miss, the momentum of the axe sending the unsuspecting man almost flying back. Another Fist stepped up with a longbow and sent an arrow into the skull of another pursuer. The third person wised up, skidding to a halt before turning tail in the other direction.

“The bastard doesn’t get away with his life, lads!” Kagain growled as he gave chase with the Fists.

“Imoen, go with them!” Jaheira barked.

Imoen nodded, taking out a wand of Magic Missile as she ran. Khalid and Xan went with her. Trusting that they will catch the third man, Jaheira approached the Fist with the arrow in his side. He was bent over, sword forgotten on the ground as he tried to catch his breath against a tree.

“Let me see,” she told him, firm but gentle.

The man nodded, then turned so that she could see his wounded side. She helped seat him against the tree and began probing the wound. He pulled off his helmet with a grunt, revealing a flustered half-elven man with tawny hair.

“Name’s Godric, maam. I went with Corporal Sorrel and the others to look for Aoln.”

Jaheira’s hands froze, her eyes whipped up to stare at him. “Where are the others?”

“Still standing when I left them. We found a drow, she said was running from a big group of Talons. The Corporal told me to get back to camp to warn you, to be ready for an attack.” He winced, grasping his side. “The Talons are a lot closer than we thought, maam. I ran into those three barely minutes after I left the others and I’ve been trying to lose them in the mist since. Didn’t mean to lead them back to camp, I swear it.”

“Sorrel and the others, where did they go?” she prompted him.

“I don’t know, maam. I’d think they would have gone to look for that big group, since the drow said Aoln might be on the run from them, too.”

The druid paused for a moment, thinking. Then she refocused on Godric’s wound. “I’m going to pull this arrow out.

“Should I bite down on something…”

The rest of Godric’s sentence erupted in a shout as Jaheira pulled the offending arrow from his body, noting detachedly that it managed to miss all his vitals by some uncommon luck. As the man hissed in pain, she poured a healing spell into the wound, causing the bleeding to peter out.

“Doesn’t look like the arrow was poisoned. Come, take off your chestpiece, I need to bind it.”

Godric shot her an incredulous look, but obediently began to unlace the straps of his chestpiece. “I thought you’re supposed to count to three or something.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt less, from my experience,” she answered drily. “We are heading out as soon as you can walk.”

“Yes, maam,” Godric sighed.

Vai appeared at that moment in full regalia, flanked by ten Fists and Garrick. “Godric. Report.”

By the time Godric rattled off his report and answered his superior’s questions, Jaheira was already tying off the ends of his bandage. She helped him strap his armour on, got him back to his feet when she was done, then stood to face Vai.

“We should pursue. Once the Talon group knows we’re here…” she trailed off meaningfully.

Vai gave a curt nod, glancing at Garrick. “Who should we speak to? Sorrel’s group or Kagain’s?”

“Kagain’s.” Jaheira paused, watching Garrick. “Reach out to Xan.”

Garrick took out a piece of wire from his pouch. “Xan’s the elf mage, right? I ask him for directions, that’s it? Alright, here we go.” His hand moved in a quick set of motions while he uttered a few words. It sounded like gibberish to Jaheira, but once he was done, he asked out loud, “Xan, a platoon is coming after you. How far are you and how do we find you?”

A few tense seconds lapsed, with Vai and Jaheira staring at Garrick intently, waiting for an answer. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Er, we have to give him some time to reply.”

“We are waiting,” Vai replied coolly.

“Hang on,” the bard started. “He says not far, go north from our spot until some standing stones, then east until we find them. They got their man.”

Vai jerked her head north. “Let’s move.”

The group jogged forward in formation, the Fists taking the lead in a rough U-shape, shielding Jaheira, Garrick and Godric behind them. Along the way, Jaheira asked Godric about the drow, trying to figure out where the drow could have come from. She had never heard of Underdark routes through the Wood of Sharp Teeth, but then again, stranger things have been found in the wild. Godric could offer nothing more than what he saw and heard, only that the drow was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on.

They found the standing stones Xan mentioned quickly enough, then headed east. Jaheira wondered at the stone structures, struck by the formation done in perfect harmony with the surrounding trees and foliage. To her, it seemed very much like the handiwork of a druid circle. And yet she had seen no sign of any druids since they’d entered the woods. Had they been killed by the bandits? Yet another crime these monsters would pay for if that were true, she thought.

Eventually they reached a glade littered with large rocks. Kagain and the two Fists with him were standing to one side having a discussion while Khalid, Imoen and Xan were huddled on another side. The man they were pursuing was no more than a bloody smear on the ground between the two groups. Likely put out of his misery once he’d outlived his usefulness. They all looked towards the approaching platoon with Vai at the head. Jaheira saw Imoen steal a furtive glance at the corpse, then shuddered as she looked away.

“Officer Vai,” one of the Fists with Kagain snapped off a salute. “We know where their group is based.”

“Close?” the captain raised an eyebrow at him.

“Past some ponds over there, camped along a dell. Half an hour’s march.”

“How many?”

“More than 20, he said,” the Fist gestured to the dead man. “There’s a Talon commander among them, named Raiken.”

Vai nodded, satisfied. “We can handle that. But we need that commander alive.”

“And make him squeal like this pig here. I wanna know what happened to my caravan,” Kagain’s eyes glinted with malice.

“What about Kivan and his group?” Jaheira cut in.

“No word,” Xan answered. “These scouts never caught sight of them.”

“We can’t afford to wait.” Vai shook her head. “We must hit them before they realise their scouts are missing. The others will have to catch up.”

Jaheira exchanged a worried glance with Khalid, but there was nothing else to be said. Vai had voiced their own thoughts.

They went past a set of large ponds, with ground in between them covered in moss and leaves. The terrain became uneven from there, making the trek slightly challenging for the men in full armour. These woods were majestic, Jaheira thought, nature as untouched as Silvanus would have wished it. It was no wonder that it’s been so difficult to track the bandits to their source, if they hid themselves so deeply in the wilderness. No one would think to go this deep into the Wood of Sharp Teeth unless they were a druid. Or a criminal.

Xan abruptly went bolt still when they had barely travelled a scant quarter of an hour, his eyes scanning the horizon. Everyone held their positions even as their hands hovered over their weapons. The only sound the rest could hear was the chirping of insects and birds, and the minute creaks of armour as they waited tensely for some kind of signal from the elf.

“They’re coming this way,” Xan hissed suddenly.

“We’re fighting in the open,” Khalid pointed out.

Vai nodded, making up her mind. “Move down this way, men, to the copse of pines. Bows ready.”

Jaheira moved ahead of the others, finding a suitable tree to crouch behind. She glanced at the terrain, estimating that they could make a decent kill zone if they struck just as the bandits cleared the treeline and into the open. An entanglement spell would do well here. But if the bandits had more archers on hand, it could be disadvantageous for her group to persist with a ranged battle, they would get picked off one by one, cover or no.

There was no time, though. Even she could hear the beginnings of footsteps from where she was hiding. Khalid flashed her a grim smile as he drew his bow. On the other side of him, Imoen’s brows were furrowed in concentration as her knuckles grew white over her bow while Xan stood calmly with a hand in his pouch of spell components.

Their quarry stepped out of the treeline, a cruel-looking bunch of men in armours of deep black. Like the Fists, they also walked in a loose formation, with swordsmen at the fore and bowmen at the back. She quickly estimated over 20 men, against their group of 20. It would be an even fight – the Talons were as well-trained as the Fists, from what she’d seen.

“Aim for ones on the right,” Xan said quietly, fingering a piece of metal.

Imoen nodded as both she and Khalid nocked arrows to their bows. It was a strategy they’d executed before. Likewise, the Fist all had their bows drawn and their targets selected.

Terse seconds ticked by as the Talons crossed the open terrain, then Vai said, “Loose.”

Jaheira cast her entanglement spell right in the middle of the Talon formation the same time Xan’s Holding spell went off, causing shouts of surprise to erupt. The shouts turned to screams when the arrows met their marks, with a few paralysed Talons on the right toppling over dead immediately as they were unable to evade the arrows. It was a good sweep, easily five downed in the first volley, Jaheira estimated, holding herself in reserve for melee combat or healing.

“Back to the treeline!” one of the Talons at the back roared, a broad man in heavy armour.

_That must be Raiken._

The Talons backpedalled to the safety of the trees, except for the unlucky few still trapped in the twisting vines sprouting from the ground. Another volley of arrows put paid to the stragglers, nearly halving the numbers of the Talons within a minute.

“Officer, do we pursue?” asked one of the Fists.

“Not when they’re dug in. Another volley!”

Imoen groaned in frustration as the rest loosed another round of arrows into the opposite treeline. Her shortbow didn’t have the range for it. The arrows didn’t meet the intended targets, anyway. Jaheira frowned in concern. They needed to close before Raiken got it in his head to make a run for it. Then their risky foray would have been in vain.

Before she could voice out her concern, more shouts rang out from the Talons. Bizarrely, a handful of them seemed to bolt out from cover and out in the open, shouting and pointing at the ground as though something was erupting from the earth. Jaheira could hear Raiken screaming at the men to come back, but the Fists made quick work of them. In the midst of the chaos, one of the bandits toppled forward, struck by an arrow that came from _behind_ the Talons.

“What’s happening over there?” Imoen cried out.

As if on cue, a sphere of pure inky darkness engulfed the remaining Talons. The Talons that stepped out of the darkness were quickly despatched by a rapidly closing trio of assailants, consisting of two men in shining plate armour and a woman shimmering blue with the Weave. Jaheira exhaled in relief. It seemed they converged with Kivan and the rest, after all, even if in a roundabout way.

“Men, move up!” Vai shouted.

They didn’t need to be told twice. To a man, they charged across the terrain, like the whips of Asmodeus were behind them. As they approached their adversaries, the blot of darkness suddenly disappeared, giving them full visibility of the battlefield. Battle cries on their lips, the Fists cut through the remaining Talons’ line like butter. What started out as an even fight ended up becoming a massacre.

Once she checked Khalid was unharmed, Jaheira went to Elene as the Fists finished off the battle. The young elf gave her a smile, the magical armour casting a bluish sheen on her sweaty skin. “Great strategy, hitting them as they went out in the open.”

“You were prepared to ambush them all along?” asked the druid with suspicion.

Elene exchanged an uneasy glance with Ajantis nearby before she spoke. “Some of us were. The rest of us just wanted to see where they were going.”

“Oh, thank Tymora you’re alright, Lene,” Imoen caught up, clapping her friend on the shoulder. “Where have you been?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The girl dropped her gaze. “We were too late to save Aoln from the Talons.”

Jaheira’s jaw tightened. “Dead?”

“Yes.” Elene nodded, looking around distractedly. “Very dead.”

“There was nothing we could have done, my lady,” Ajantis said gently.

Jaheira exhaled slowly through her nose. She’d suspected these bandits must have had some kind of information for their scouts to skim so close to the Fist encampment. At least this confirmed it. They likely tortured it out of Vai’s prize tracker.

“Where is Kivan?” the druid asked instead.

“Uh, about that. I need to tell you something,” Elene gave her an anxious look.

“Which one is their commander?” barked Vai suddenly as she scanned the carnage.

“I think you’re looking for this one here, Officer.”

Jaheira waved off her ward, moving instead to join Vai. Sorrel was crouched over a heavy-armoured man who lay panting on the ground. His sword was evenly aimed for the prone man’s throat. The Talon commander had suffered a blow to the head, which was bleeding heavily, but seemed otherwise lucid. He was a surprisingly affable-looking man, given his profession. Despite the precarious position he was in, he seemed unafraid.

Vai stood over Sorrel. “Corporal, you left the camp this morning without orders to do so.”

He looked up at her, his face unreadable. “I did, Officer.” He waved a hand at his captive. “To get you this.”

She levelled a cool look at him. “We will discuss this later.” Then she turned to the Talon commander. “You are Raiken, I presume?”

“Who’s asking?” the man rasped.

“Your executioner if you don’t cooperate.”

“Women these days, already with the threats,” he sighed.

Sorrel smirked at that but smothered the expression quickly when he saw Vai look his way.

“Just take his fingers off one at a time, he’ll start talking,” Kagain remarked, tone deceptively mild. “What happened to my caravan, fool?”

The man squinted at him. “Which caravan?”

“Oh, for Corellon’s sake,” Xan groaned, pulling a hand down his face in agitation. “Can I handle this?”

Vai sent a questioning look at Jaheira, which she responded to with a nod. “He is good with…interrogations.”

“Go ahead then.”

Despite what she said, Jaheira tried not to think about Tranzig. But Xan told her he now had the right spell for this sort of situation, something he picked up from Thalantyr, a local mage of some power, before they left Beregost. She hoped his effort this time would be a lot less…messy than their last interrogation.

Xan stood over the Talon commander, his features contemplative. “We will have one hour to get what we need.”

“Do what you must,” Jaheira told him.

The elf raised his hand to weave a complicated pattern even as he uttered a melodic chant. When he was done, the Talon commander’s face became unnaturally still, before he looked up at Xan, as if waiting for instructions.

“Is your name Raiken?” Xan asked.

“Yes,” the man replied automatically.

Vai straightened, eyebrows raised. “That’s a handy ability. Now ask him where his base is.”

Raiken turned out to be a key person in the Talon hierarchy. He not only knew where the base was, he also knew the patterns for bandit raids and the key routes they targeted. When asked who his group worked for, to his knowledge, the Talons were being paid by Tazok, just like the Chill mercenaries. As for who was paying Tazok, now that was anyone’s guess. There was a betting pool going at camp that he was either working for the Zhentarim or one of the less scrupulous merchant guilds in the region. The bandits and the mercenaries didn’t care as long as the money and ale kept flowing.

“Ask him about my caravan,” Kagain prodded Xan.

“Really, you’re gonna have to tell me which caravan. We’ve sacked so many I’ve lost count,” Raiken replied, his tone still oddly without inflection as he spoke.

“As if you’d forget the caravan with Eddard Silvershield in it,” the dwarf growled.

Vai and the nearby Fists turned to stare at Kagain in shock.

“You’ll have to ask Teven. He was bragging about some Silvershield heirloom a few tendays back. Was none of my concern.”

“You lost _Duke Silvershield’s_ caravan?” Vai rounded on Kagain, indignance loud in her voice.

“I didn’t ‘lose’ it, woman. I’d spent a fortune on guards for that route and these bastards took it out from under my nose!”

“Can we _please_ focus here, we only have one hour with him,” Xan spoke up tersely.

Vai snapped back to attention. “Tell him to lead us to the camp, safest route he can think of.”

The group got ready to move out again, picking off what they could from the remains of the Talons. Garrick reached out with his spell to the other dozen or so Fists they’d left behind, to coordinate their catch-up. As Jaheira turned away, Elene tugged at her arm urgently.

“Jaheira, I really need to tell you something.”

The druid paused at the unease in her tone. “Lead on then.”

Swiftly, Elene led her to a nearby thicket of trees. Even under the morning light, the area was somewhat obscured from the main battlefield. An excellent archer’s nest, Jaheira mused. Sure enough, their ranger companion was behind the thicket, counting the arrows in his quiver. What she didn’t expect, however, was a heavily cloaked and hooded figure resting at the foot of a tree. She had a good idea who this person was, however.

“The drow, I presume,” she remarked.

Elene started at that. “How did you…? Right. You found Godric, of course.”

“She led you to this band?”

“Yes. She also helped in the battle. Her name’s Viconia.”

“I can speak for myself, jalil,” Viconia remarked, raising her head to reveal her dusky skin and snowy hair. Her crimson eyes flashed with defiance. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. When can I expect better ‘treatment’ from you and your kind?”

“I…was thinking of letting you go,” Elene confessed.

Viconia whipped her head toward her at that, the same time Kivan did. “Elene! You can’t just set this creature loose. There’s no telling what evil she will get up to.”

“She’s done nothing wrong, Kivan. If anything, she’s the one wronged by those men,” Elene replied reasonably, flicking a sympathetic look at Viconia. “And she’s right, she’s met her end of the bargain. We have no reason to hold her.”

“Vai would want to question her,” cautioned Jaheira.

“I am not in league with those men. Is it too much to ask to pass through these lands unmolested? I only wish to be left alone!” snapped Viconia.

“Hold your tongue!” Kivan hissed, his hand on his hunting knife. Viconia leaned back, startled.

“I don’t know, Jaheira.” Elene rubbed the back of her neck as she glanced apprehensively at Kivan. “The way the Fists treat their prisoners. I don’t think I want to put her through that, drow or no.”

Jaheira studied Viconia carefully as she considered their options. The girl made valid points, but as Kivan said, it would be unwise to set an unknown drow loose. This went beyond his evident prejudice against drow. There was no telling if this drow used to be an accomplice of the Talons until their deal soured. Or worse, what if this drow ran off to the bandit camp to warn the brigands in return for safe haven there? Too much uncertainty in the current situation.

And yet, she sensed that this decision was important to Elene. A drop of fairness in the ugly, brutal days they’d lived through since their meeting at the Friendly Arm Inn. She felt heartened that Gorion’s compassion lived on in his daughter, even if she didn’t fully agree with the decision.

“If Vai asks, she escaped,” the druid spoke, at last.

Kivan shot her a betrayed look, but Elene’s pleased smile more than counterbalanced his effect.

Viconia stared at all of them in undisguised astonishment. “I…can go?”

“You heard the woman. Here, take this for the road,” Elene handed her a healing potion. “Head south if you can. You don’t want to be close by for what will come.”

Still in a state of astonishment, Viconia pocketed the potion and got to her feet. “Thank you, abbil. You are the first surfacer to show me kindness. I will pray to Shar for your victory.” She paused, then tilted her head slightly. “Failing that, a swift death.”

A slight smile lingered on Elene’s lips as the drow departed, her green eyes brightened for the first time in days. The girl then turned to give Kivan a placating look. Jaheira observed the tension seep out almost in small drips from Kivan’s shoulders. Despite his obvious displeasure, he allowed the decision to stand. It felt like days ago, but the druid harked back to her conversation with Khalid earlier in the morning, about their ward’s ability to sway people.

Once again, her husband was right in these matters.


	16. The calm before the storm

It was yet another warm morning in the woods north of Peldvale. Great weather to have cool drinks and take a dip in a lake or a bubbling stream. Not so great weather to be downwind of a camp full of unwashed mercenaries waiting to kill a lot of people.

Imoen pouted as she looked down at her hand. Dirt lay under the nails which weren’t already chipped beyond aid. She’d braided her hair in the past few days since she couldn’t tolerate the grease anymore. Months in the wilderness wasn’t kind on the appearance. Clearly those adventure novels about heroines with immaculate skin and shining hair after months of adventuring were stuff and nonsense! She couldn’t wait to go back to an inn and scrub everything off every inch of dirt and nature when this was all done.

She sobered at the thought of what was to come next. Once Raiken had led them as close as possible to the perimeter of the main bandit camp, they finally realised what they had been up against all along. Since yesterday, all talk had been on ‘plan of attack’ and ‘engagement strategy’. They would need a pretty solid plan to overcome potentially a hundred men, hobgoblins and gnolls, give or take. She wondered if it was even possible.

“You think we’re gonna be able to pull this off?” she asked Garrick next to her.

He shrugged. They were reclining cosily against a tree watching the rest of the camp from some distance. “Officer Vai seems like she knows what she’s doing. And your friends are pretty good this whole killing bandits thing, too.”

“Pfft. You mean Kivan. It’s like him and Sorrel have some kind of tally going between ‘em. What’s Sorrel’s problem, anyway? He’s so devil-may-care one moment, and then crazy bandit hunter the next. Can’t get a good read on him.”

“He’s a local man who’s been investigating attacked caravans for quite a while.” The bard sighed. “Saw terrible things happen to people he knew from town, from what I heard. Such things can change a man.”

“Yeah? Since when did you get so wise to say stuff like that?” She nudged him.

“Did I sound wise?” He perked up. “I was hoping to inject more gravitas when I say things. Maybe it can get more people to take me seriously.”

She gazed at him with fondness. “Maybe grow some facial hair first. Start small, ya know.”

Garrick had been a pleasant surprise for her in all the recent muck. They’d hit it off practically from the get-go, their combined good cheer enough to drive away the others from the big group. Elene accused her of just going for his good looks, but in all seriousness, she needed that extra bit of light from someone, given that her own group were such sticks in the mud. If they were all going to die facing insurmountable odds, she’d want to have at least a bit of happiness before Kelemvor tolled the bell for her.

Although, his good looks did help.

“Won’t be able to grow anything in time for tonight,” Garrick rubbed at his clean chin. “Assuming they’ve landed on a plan.”

“They’re still going at it?” Imoen asked in wonder.

“They will have to land on something soon. Doubt the bandits will wait around once they realise they’re short of two dozen Talons. Officer Vai doesn’t intend to chase them into winter.”

Imoen wondered about Officer Vai and her posse of Flaming Fists. Elene had said that they were law enforcers, and for the most part, she could see that. But some of their methods so far showed they were still mercenaries at heart, willing to do what was necessary to meet their objectives. Including torturing prisoners who had already surrendered and executing Raiken after he’d told them everything of value. She was glad Elene released the drow when she had the chance. She didn’t think Vai and her men would be as merciful.

“There’s supposed to be some kind of war council going on now. You’re going for that?” Garrick asked, jarring her from her dark thoughts.

“Elene is,” she replied. “I go where she goes.”

Except when she ghosts off into the night with their angry ranger, not telling anyone where they went. Imoen was still sore about that. Even she had to agree with Jaheira that it was a pretty reckless thing to do. She wondered what was happening to her friend of late, her behaviour was becoming increasingly peculiar after the incident with Nimbul. As if something was haunting her, and she was looking for things to do to run away from whatever doing the haunting.

“Well, we may want to get moving.” Garrick jerked his blonde head towards the main camp, where a few people had began to congregate around Vai’s tent. “I think they’re about to start.”

Sighing, Imoen finished the last drop from her waterskin and allowed Garrick to help her to her feet. She let her hand linger in his for a moment, smiling up at him as she did. He cleared his throat, then released her with a shy smile and a jaunty bow, his blue eyes twinkling. Together, they made their way to join the dourer members of their group.

The rest of her party was already gathered in a clearing centered around a patch of barren ground, a few dozen strides away from the nearest cluster of sleeping tents. They had their early morning faces on, with Jaheira, Xan and Elene all looking like they hadn’t had much rest the night before. Kivan was as stone-faced as ever. Khalid waved Imoen over when he saw her approach. She gladly took her position next to him, with Garrick on her other side.

“So, what’s going on? Do we know what we’re doing next?” she asked the warrior hopefully.

Khalid gave her a nervous smile. “We’re about to find out.”

“Haven’t they been discussing this since yesterday?”

“There is a saying for this type of situation, Imoen. Too many cooks spoil the broth.”

Imoen’ brows furrrowed. She’d heard that from Winthrop enough times back in Candlekeep. Never thought it would apply in their current business. She glanced at the other familiar faces gathered. Kagain and Ajantis were also in the circle, along with Sorrel and Godric, all gravitating towards Vai, who stood there with her arms crossed.

After a moment, Vai nodded to Godric, who had taken over as the scout for the second group after Aoln’s unfortunate demise. The half-elf crouched and began drawing lines and circles into the ground with a stick, outlining the rough layout of the bandit camp. A large, almost pavilion-like tent surrounded by many smaller tents, close to a pond and a rock structure which likely housed a cave for storage. It was a neat set-up, all in all, capable of supporting a hive of activity for a great number of people. To round out his crude map, Godric marked an X at a spot further south of the network of tents.

“I think we all know where we’re situated, friend,” Sorrel commented drily.

Godric shrugged as he stepped back, conceding the floor to Vai. The captain cleared her throat before she began.

“Thanks to Godric, we have the lay of the land now. Based on the size of the camp, we could be dealing with up to a hundred brigands, a mix of humans, hobgoblins and gnolls. I’ve sent for reinforcements, but it would take days before they arrive, by which these brigands would have scattered deeper into the wilds. It is imperative we mount an assault tonight before they notice Raiken and his group’s disappearance.”

Imoen glanced at Elene, who sat cross-legged in front of Jaheira. Her shirt was still stained with patches of dried blood that a quick wash couldn’t get rid of. Despite the state of her attire, her face was clean, her hair neatly pulled back from her face. She seemed alert as the gears turned in her head, even though deep shadows lurked under her eyes. In that moment, the image reminded Imoen of a particular day Candlekeep, when she’d found the elf holed up in her room after days of trying to figure out the right ink mix for the best scribing experience.

Oh, how their problems have evolved since those simple halcyon days.

“An approach through the east is unlikely because of the thickness of the undergrowth. We would give ourselves away cutting a path through,” Vai continued, pointing at the layout. “Sentries are posted at four points. The main thrust of attack should come through the southeast, close to the pavilion. We should aim to cut off the head quickly and visibly, then the rest will scatter.”

“Tenhammer Khosann happens to be one of those heads,” grunted Kagain. “Not gonna be easy to cut that one off.”

“The trees to the east will bottleneck us,” added Jaheira. “I assume you wish for another group to come from the southwest, by the pond.”

“Precisely. Another force coming through there, with our best archers to sow chaos among their ranks.”

The discussion continued from there, with Khalid stepping in to draw likely choke points they could stand and defend with shields. Yet the plan hinged very much on the group attacking the middle causing sufficient chaos for the vanguard group from the southeast to advance without triggering too many alarms. If that group was stalled, they could be hemmed in towards the trees, making them sitting ducks for Talon arrows.

“Why can’t we all just box them in from the south?” Ajantis asked. “Strike with arrows first, then move up with shield walls.”

Vai shook her head. “With that many bandits in the camp, the answering volley would be a rain of arrows. We’d need tower shields for that. And more men.”

“More men would always be nice,” sighed Sorrel.

“Misdirection works just as well,” said Jaheira. “It makes sense to have them focus on the middle area while the main threat moves in from southeast, but how would we _keep_ them focused there?”

“Fire always works,” Xan commented mildly.

The druid quirked her eyebrow. “We’d need a raging fire. Right in the middle of their camp.”

“A well-placed fireball could do that.”

To Imoen’s curiosity, Xan glanced at Elene as he spoke. The younger elf remained still as she studied the map, quietly contemplative. After a few moments, she seemed to have landed on something as she then addressed Godric.

“Did you see where they keep their alcohol stores?”

“Their booze?” Godric blinked, then pointed to an area in the middle of the bandit camp. “If I have to guess, around there, I reckon. Looked like kegs and barrels near the entrance of the cave.”

“What does their booze have to do with anything?” Kagain wanted to know.

“Before the charm wore off, we asked Raiken where they got their ale from. He said, ‘the boys’ made their own moonshine.”

“Yeah, so?”

Elene cracked a slight smile. “Moonshine fumes explode when they catch fire.”

Imoen grinned as her friend flicked a knowing look her way. How could she forget the time she talked Elene into ‘applying’ her alchemy lessons on Winthrop’s stores of ale. The fire they caused had put the Candlekeep Inn out of business for weeks.

The rest of the group stood straighter at that revelation. A flurry of scenarios were drawn out, on how much store of moonshine the bandits had, whether the resulting ball of flame would be enough to spread to the nearby tents and cause the most chaos. In the event that didn’t work, alternatives were considered on how to set fire to a portion of the camp. If that could be achieved without looking like an attack, the sentries would be distracted. The bandits would then inevitably send men to the pond to put out the fire, making them easy targets for the Fist archers. With luck, the explosion on its own would take out enough men to soften them up for the main attack.

Then of course came the consideration of whom to send in to do the deed.

“Fire arrows would do it,” Kivan commented, his eyes gleaming at the prospect.

“From afar?” Jaheira shook her head. “Then it wouldn’t seem like an accident. They would know it was part of an attack and the direction the attack would come from.”

“If you want to make it look like an accident, someone would have to go right in the middle of camp to light the fire,” he shot back.

“Close enough to light it, but far enough to be out of the blast zone,” mused Ajantis.

“We do have an invisibility potion,” Elene piped up. “I could do it. Get in, fire off a cantrip and hide.”

“I would imagine it would be difficult to hide with a giant ball of flame illuminating the same area,” Xan remarked, gracing her with a questioning look.

“A Fire Bolt would give me enough clearance to hide,” Elene replied, her tone firm. “I can do it.”

Jaheira looked ready to object, but Vai spoke first. “Excellent idea. Then you can link up with either the strike team or the main force when the battle is joined.”

Imoen shifted uncomfortably, wondering what Elene was thinking being so daring all of a sudden. Granted, Elene has proven to be remarkably good at sneaking around and trickery in their travels. If anyone could pull it off, it would have been her. But if she failed to conceal herself in time, the consequences would be dire.

“I say let the elf do it,” Kagain harrumphed. “If she gets killed, we’ll just use arrows anyway.”

Jaheira glared at the dwarf. “This ‘elf’ is not some expendable tool of yours.”

“We’re not saying she is,” Vai raised a hand placatingly. “It’s a good strategy, gives us the edge we need to start the battle. We should pursue it, unless someone else has a better alternative?”

Imoen frowned as murmurs went around the group. If it wasn’t Elene who had suggested it, she doubted Jaheira would have said anything. It was definitely a better idea than a hopeful bum-rush of shields and swords.

_I should have learned that cantrip too. Then it wouldn’t be all on Elene._

Despite Jaheira’s resistance, it was eventually agreed that Elene would sneak in to put the plan in motion once no solid alternative was offered. The attack on the largest tent would be mounted by a mixed vanguard consisting of Vai, Jaheira, Kivan, Xan, three Fists and Ajantis. Meanwhile, Sorrel would lead Kagain, Khalid, Imoen, Garrick and the rest of the Fists on the main attack of the camp and keep the bulk of the forces occupied.

It was difficult to focus on the finer points once the discussion drifted off to timing, signals and exit routes. They would start the attack after midnight, when they hope most of the bandits would have bedded down for the night. Imoen got the gist of it, but whatever it was, she knew she would end up following Khalid anyway. Her gaze kept straying to her old friend, trying to get a sense of what she was thinking. But Elene said nothing after her initial contribution. She just sat there looking at the map, her expression unreadable.

“What do we do about those who’ve surrendered?” Ajantis asked as they were winding down.

Vai and Sorrel exchanged looks before the captain answered, “Deal with them as you see fit.”

No prizes for guessing what that meant, Imoen thought. They had no intention of taking prisoners.

“Alright, I think we’re all clear on what needs to be done,” Vai concluded, nodding at the people gathered. “Prepare what you need for tonight and get whatever rest you can. Despite what we’ve planned, it will be a challenging encounter.”

“As long as I find out what happened to that damned caravan,” grumbled Kagain as he tottered off.

Ajantis ducked his head respectfully at Elene as he turned away. “Helm protect you, my lady. ‘Tis a brave thing you’re doing.”

The group dispersed. Khalid tapped Imoen on the shoulder as she started to walk away. Turning, she saw Jaheira gesturing for a discussion for their own group. Imoen flashed Garrick an apologetic smile as she followed Khalid to join the rest of her party as they stood together before a large, branching tree.

Jaheira looked to Elene, her expression grim. “I hope you know what you’re doing, child.”

“Well, I have some hours to figure it out,” the girl replied, sounding strangely calm despite the gravity of the situation. “Do you have any thoughts, Xan?”

The enchanter sighed. “A few choice ones, yes. But since you’ve already resigned yourself to this task...” Xan trailed off, thinking. “You will need the means to hide in plain sight after you’re done. An illusion or disguise. We can work on that.”

“Not to mention have more flammable things ready in case they’re out of moonshine,” said Elene. “We have some leftover grease from the food stores. Combine that with a fireball, it would make for some interesting fireworks.”

Jaheira forestalled their brainstorming with a raised hand. “Prepare what you must, let us know if you need anything. Godric was unable to tell us who the bandit leaders are and if they are still in the camp. We need to be ready for anything. If they had a powerful mage on their side, the tide could turn very quickly.”

“Whatever we find, remember that Tazok is mine,” Kivan growled.

“Not at the cost of all our lives,” the druid snapped back. “We have a plan, we stick to it unless the situation changes.”

“We need to keep our heads, Kivan,” echoed Elene. “We’re so close.”

Kivan said nothing. It was unlikely their words got through.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” muttered Xan.

Jaheira shot Khalid a knowing look before she spoke. “Elene, join with me when you’ve gotten clear. I will need you at the leaders’ tent. Look out for letters, documents, correspondences, anything that can point us in the right direction if we cannot capture anyone alive. Once the battle ends, that will be the end of our mutual arrangement with the Fists.”

“Alright.”

“We will gather after supper.” The druid’s smile was grim. “Rest and make what you can of the day.”

With the end of the discussion, Kivan stalked off into the trees. The half-elven pair strode away together back to the Fist encampment, heads close as they discussed how they would coordinate from different groups. The two elven mages remained by the tree to resume their discussion on the best combination of fire spells and flammable materials. As for Imoen, she hesitated, suddenly struck by the enormity of what they would undertake that night and wondering at her own mortality.

“Hey Im, you alright? You seem pretty quiet,” Elene glanced up at her suddenly.

“Lene, you sure about this plan?” Imoen asked.

Elene returned her searching gaze evenly, her eyes finally reflecting the gentle scholar underneath, for the first time in many weeks. “At this point, no one’s really sure of anything. Karan used to say no plan survives first contact with the enemy. We just need to have some contingencies in place for when that happens.”

Her friend tried a reassuring smile, but Imoen can sense a dash of uncertainty behind the words. It seemed like one of those things her friend planned to improvise as she found more tools and ideas. Perfectly fine if she was merely mixing up a new batch of hangover remedy for Hull but probably a bit reckless when applied to their current situation.

“Ya know that’s not what I’m really asking,” she replied.

“I know.” Elene pulled at her sleeve distractedly. “It’s just…we’ve already come this far. It’d be silly to just sit back and let these men get away. If I can do something to help tip the balance in our favour, I should, right?”

Imoen blew out a long breath, making a little whistling sound as she did. “Yeah. I guess I see where yer coming from.”

“Noble sentiments, liable to get you killed,” Xan commented as he pulled out his slim container of scrolls. “So, let us temper it with proper preparation, shall we? I can already picture three dire scenarios before we even launch the attack.”

Elene patted the ground next to her. “You should join us, Im. Maybe you can make a big distraction for the main group. They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

The human rogue settled down with Elene and Xan for the rest of the morning, assessing fire magic and illusions. She’d always enjoyed time spent with the two elves, even if Xan was the biggest mud-stick ever, because it felt like she learned more from those hours than the years she’d spent in Candlekeep. It’s not like Gorion didn’t try to give her magical instruction, just the way the lessons were taught drove Imoen mad with boredom. Back then, there was no way she’d be able to apply anything she learned, so she didn’t see much point in going through the doldrum of it. Now, she definitely saw that magic could be the deciding factor between victory and certain death.

Once the day crept past mid-day, she sought out Garrick’s company. Ostensibly, she did so to coordinate a clever spell with him for their attack but in truth, she needed the light-hearted company. Dread nestled heavily in her chest even after extensive strategising with Elene and Xan. She didn’t know how Elene could handle being around Xan so much. His habit of highlighting all the things that could go wrong made her even more afraid for what will take place that night.

Garrick hummed as he oiled the trigger on his crossbow, pensive after hours of chatting with her. She unrolled the spell scroll in her hand for the umpteenth time that day. The words on the page were easy enough for her to recite once Xan had taught her how. She could do this, she thought. Her friends were counting on her.

The hours seemed to fly after that. Before she realised it, the sun was setting. Like the night before, dinner consisted of dried rations and whatever they could scrounge from the wilderness since they could not risk a fire so close to the bandit camp. Imoen watched as Elene collected their remaining cooking oil and grease into a waterskin, to complement the potion of explosions already at her belt. Elene would become a walking fire hazard before the night was through. Imoen counted the arrows in her quiver again, wondering what Gorion would have thought of his cultivated daughter becoming a Flaming Fist sapper of all things.

Once supper was ended, Imoen gathered her bow and quiver. The hour of attack was upon them.

Not much was said before they set out. Jaheira reminded them of their objectives, glaring meaningfully at Kivan at certain intervals. The ranger never responded, his eyes cold and unmoving through it all. Imoen gave Elene a tight hug before they split off into their respective groups, with Khalid and Imoen going with the main force following Godric to their objective.

They hung back in the cover of trees overlooking a large pond. Beyond the pond, a network of tents and makeshift structures loomed, illuminated by firelight. The stillness of the night was broken with sudden bursts of raucous laughter and barking, the commingling of human, hobgoblin and gnoll voices in the camp. Sorrel stood aloof at the head of their group, sword in hand but still as a statue. Now, all they could do was wait for the signal. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness, the air around them almost buzzing with tension.

Imoen started as a someone grabbed her hand in the dark. Her eyes widened as Garrick drew close.

“Imoen, I thought I’d tell you this, before…well, before. I think I really like you.”

Despite the calcifying fear in her gut and the incredulous glances from nearby Fists, she found herself grinning. “Yeah? Well, I like you too, Garrick.”

“Music to my ears.” Garrick pulled her in for a quick but passionate kiss, grinning like an idiot when he stepped back. “I’ve been meaning to do that for days.”

“Oh well.” Imoen chuckled. “Better late than never.”

A ball of fire erupted over a cluster of tents. Imoen pulled away from the bard, eyes wide. Within seconds, shouts rang out across the camp. The light from the burning tents illuminated the men running to and fro as they began to coordinate efforts to put out the flames.

“Archers,” Sorrel’s voice was steady in the darkness.

Giddiness completely forgotten, Imoen swallowed as she nocked an arrow to her bow and stepped into formation next to Khalid. He gave her an encouraging smile before drawing his own bow. Sure enough, a half dozen men began running from the camp towards the pond before them, buckets in hand, shouting curses as they went. Sweat ran down her brow as she strained against her bow, waiting for the command, until Sorrel’s voice resounded again.

“Loose.”


	17. The eye of the storm

Elene scrambled frantically to her feet, a dozen choice expletives blazing through her mind. Half stumbling, half crawling, she managed to drag herself to the side of an abandoned wagon nearby, squeezing her slight frame between the wagon and several barrels of supplies nestled beside it. Her heart was in her throat, but she kept the presence of mind to pull the shadows around herself as she folded her body to be as small as possible.

_That…could have gone better. Note to self, give yourself bigger clearance next time._

By some miracle, no one had seen her. She swallowed, taking a moment to calm her racing heartbeat as screams resonated from the burning tents. Her eyes traced the red corona illuminating the whole camp. Well, that’s a big fire, she admitted with a hint of irony. Sprinkling grease close to nearby tents before igniting the kegs of moonshine worked far better than she and Xan expected. The blast radius from the ensuing follow-up explosions had certainly caught _her_ off guard.

Someone abruptly skidded into a halt in her line of sight, a tall man in dark armour. “Beshaba’s tits!” he yelled, a hand grasping at his flaxen hair. “Get water, you louts! Before all our food supplies burn up!”

“Aye, Teven!” replied another man out of sight.

“How in the hells did this happen?”

The man, Teven, began inspecting the area around him with some suspicion. Elene shrank deeper into her hiding place as his eyes skimmed over the wagon she was pressed against. This was the other Talon commander Raiken mentioned, she realised. A mean-looking fellow, armed with a large two-hander.

Fortunately, his human eyes could not discern much in the gloom. He missed her completely, then after pausing in thought, turned to move away. “Time to put that good-for-nothing mage to work. If he can’t even summon water, Khosann will have his head.”

She waited for Teven’s footsteps to fade away before daring to draw a deep breath. As Xan feared, they had a mage on their side. She would need to re-join Jaheira’s group quickly to warn them. She rubbed at her face, feeling the faint tingle of magic lingering there. Hopefully, the illusory guise would create enough confusion for her to cross the camp in one piece. There was a very small margin of error from this point onward, a point Xan drove into her multiple times earlier in the day.

Men were running toward the fire to help douse their burning comrades while others were making their move towards the pond to fetch more water. Khalid and Imoen’s group will begin their assault soon, she knew.

Her mind flashed to the horror she saw the day before, of Aoln and the indignities the Talons inflicted upon him before they put him out of his misery. Kivan had tried to shield the sight from her, but she saw. She remembered the old hunter as a benign prattling sort, always warning them of the dangers of the wilderness, repeatedly telling the same story about an ogre mage who killed the rest of his adventuring group a long time ago. He did not deserve to be snuffed out that way. It felt almost unfair that these men would face quick deaths when Aoln was not given the same mercy.

_Some men are no better than beasts._

She felt a strange measure of satisfaction when the first cries of pain and surprise were heard beyond the camp.

“We’re under attack!”

The shouts in the camp took on a different urgency then, as the unprepared began to shuck on armours and go for their weapons. After waiting a few more minutes, Elene drew a long knife from her belt, and then another, as she leaned forward to emerge from her little refuge. She’d need to cut through opponents quickly in the confusion. The sword would only slow her down.

As she’d hoped, Sorrel had commanded the melee charge, the sound of metal boots music to her ears as they crossed the distance from the pond toward the camp. The bandit forces moved forth to engage his group, still unaware that another group was approaching from the east.

So far so good. It was now or never.

She slipped away from the wagon then broke into a brisk walk, aiming for the large pavilion located a safe distance from the raging fire. Up ahead, about five men were running towards her and the upcoming battle, some unarmed, some already with bows drawn.

By rights she should feel some trepidation. Instead, her gaze settled coolly on those men. She thought of Kivan. The scars lacing his hands, the cruel lashings on his exposed back when he changed his shirt, the cold fury that fuelled him in all the fights with these men and those like them. She remembered the ruined caravans they found on the roads, surrounded by rotting corpses of men and women who sought better lives with their journey but found brutal deaths instead. All because of men like the ones right in front of her.

_They don’t deserve to live._

“Oy, ya going the wrong way, mate!” the lead man pointed toward the approaching Fist front line.

To their eyes, they saw an unassuming man in splint mail, garbed in deepest black to match the banner of the Talons. It was no wonder that the first man didn’t even react when she approached as if to tell the man something but ended up thrusting her knife through his exposed neck instead. The second man fell when she swivelled with her off-hand knife at a perfect arc to slash through his throat. Using momentum, she kicked off her back foot and killed the third man with a stab through the heart before the last two men even realised they were in danger. One man raised his bow in futility only for her to slash through his wrist with one blade and across his throat with the other.

The last man had his sword drawn by the time she came for him. A wild swing came at her head, but it was all too easy for her to duck under it. She thrust her knife upward, adrenaline giving her the strength to pierce his chain shirt and push the blade clean through to where she guessed his liver was. Judging from the choked sound he made, she surmised that she’d hit the right target. She pulled the knife to the left and out in one smooth motion to confirm the kill and continued her brisk stride to cross the camp, her expression as still as a tomb.

The entire encounter happened within a minute. Her pulse hummed gratifyingly in the chaos.

It didn’t take her long to reach her objective. The fighting there had already begun, Jaheira’s entangling vines ensnaring a few men who would be easy pickings for Kivan. Oddly, a few of the bandits were fighting their own brethren, sowing great confusion in the ranks. Elene smiled when she saw a magically armoured Xan standing far at the back, his hand raised like a macabre puppet master. Ajantis, Vai and two Fists were mowing through the scattered bandits and Talons who were caught completely blindsided by this second force.

She put away her knives and drew her sword, dispelling the Talon disguise as she did. It wouldn’t do to get mistaken for a Talon and get an arrow in the eye from Kivan after all her efforts to get there. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the shadows once more.

After, long after, when things had calmed down, Elene would admit that she could not recall much from the ensuing bloodbath. As she surprised a Talon archer furthest back in the line, the foremost inane thought in her mind was of Imoen’s ruined dress. She remembered that balmy day after Nimbul’s attack, they were packing up their things in Nashkel Inn when she caught sight of the pink dress Imoen wore to the town’s celebration. Dry blood had stained the skirt of the dress all the way up to the knees.

She had glanced at Imoen in shock, thinking her friend had been hurt, and she had felt such fury at Nimbul, at Tazok, at the men who wanted to hurt her, that Imoen needed to calm her down and set her straight. In that moment, though, she realised that they were not going to stop once they got her. They would murder all her loved ones, too.

So she fought, and she fought hard. Once upon a time, she’d looked up to heroic bladesingers in books who fought with elaborate moves akin to dancing. They overwhelmed their opponents with sheer skill and talent. In living the Life, she was discovering that the best fighter was the one who made every movement count. Inefficient fighters were tired fighters and they do not last long on the battlefield. Thanks to Khalid’s patient instruction, she was developing an uncanny ability to strike at the right points using the best motion economy.

She’d carved through the back line of the bandits before pausing to summon her Mage Armour for the main push. Once again, everything had happened in an exhilarating rush. She felt energised, fuelled by a strange buzzing energy. Jaheira ran towards her, the druid giving her an odd look as she came close. She must look quite a fright, she thought, glancing down at her crimson-soaked front. When did all that blood get on her?

“Are you…hurt?” asked Jaheira, studying her uncertainly.

“No, I’m fine. They have a mage somewhere, by the way. Best be on our guard.” Elene’s brows furrowed as she caught sight of Kivan heading towards the open flap of the main tent. “What’s _he_ doing?”

“The fool!” hissed the other woman.

The two women pelted towards their ranger to haul him back. As they did, Elene saw that Officer Vai and her cadre were unable to advance as their path was blocked by a mountain of a man wielding a massive hammer. One blow from that beast would end any of them, so the captain was understandably wary as she sized up her opponent. Ajantis somehow managed to skirt around that stand-off to join them, with Xan in tow.

“Kivan! Wait!” Elene called out.

Her words went unheeded. He had a shot lined up as he stepped up to the tent opening, managing to loose the arrow before abruptly throwing himself aside to avoid two countering arrows aimed for his chest. Whoever was in there, they were ready for a frontal assault.

“Change of plans,” Xan remarked, nodding at Jaheira. “We make a new entrance.”

Jaheira flicked a glance at her ward. “Elene, go with Kivan. Two-pronged attack.”

The druid weaved a quick spell under her breath, evoking a scimitar in her right hand which burst into a bright column of flame. Elene hurried to join Kivan as Jaheira proceeded to carve the blade through the canvas of the tent. Frantic yelling erupted from within as their opponents began to scramble a defence for this new threat. Taking a deep breath, Elene gave a quick nod to Kivan, noting his intense expression with worry as she steeled herself for the next move, which was a daring leap through the main entrance. Mad tingling flared up at the back of her head as the magic from her boots guided her to dodge the two incoming arrows aimed for her.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light of interior torches, noticing that the space was much bigger than it looked from outside. Adapting her stance, she caught sight of five opponents. Two men to her right, a gnoll and a man to her left and what looked like a humanoid figure lurking at the back of the tent, shielded by tarpaulins of goods stacked upon each other. The whole interior was filled to the brim with goods and junk of all sorts. Loot from the caravans, Elene realised. Her eyes then quickly sized up her enemies, zeroing in on a bearded man in green robes to her right, his hands already raised and casting.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she closed the distance.

The other man, a warrior in medium armour, took Kivan’s arrow to the shoulder but remained on his feet. He threw his bow aside and stepped in between her and the mage, drawing his sword. She slowed, reconsidering her charge until she heard Xan’s voice call out something from her left. The warrior stopped midway through drawing his sword, his face contorted in shock.

“What the…I can’t see!”

She wanted to hug Xan in that moment. It was then a simple matter for her to sidestep the man’s wild swing and continue towards her original target. Unfortunately, her hesitation had given the mage ample time to complete his spell. He coalesced the ball of energy in his hands into the shape of an arrow, which he then launched straight at her with a loud hiss. Try as she might, it was impossible to dodge at such close range. The arrow hit her right side with a green splash. She stumbled, crying out in pain as acid burned at the exposed skin on her neck and made an ominous hissing sound as it ate through her gambeson and sleeve to get at the flesh underneath.

_Thank Oghma that didn’t hit me in the face!_

Baring her teeth in pain, she advanced, but her stumble again gave him time to fire off three identical mirror images of himself which flashed and weaved in the dim light. She slashed in frustration towards one of the images, causing it to wink out. Three wicked faces still leered at her as the mage raised his hands to cast another spell. She heard the tell-tale _thunk_ of an arrow caving in a person’s skull behind her, signalling the end of the unfortunate warrior. Heartened, she hacked at another of the images, leaving two more. One of them had to be the real thing.

Before she could go for another try, the ground beneath the mage burst upward in the shape of an earthen hand which attempted to grab him. Like her, the hand was unable to distinguish between the two images and ended up grappling the mirror image instead. That was fine for Elene. She lunged without hesitation, impaling the real mage with her Sharran sword before he got his spell off. In a sudden fit of pique, she twisted the blade, making the man gurgle as globs of blood trickled out from his lips and into his beard. She stood there unmoving as she watched the life leave his eyes.

The last time she’d felt this satisfied was when she’d ended the bounty hunter in Nashkel, blood and gore strewn all over the floor. It felt…glorious.

“Where is he?”

Kivan’s angry bellow startled her from her dark thoughts as he breezed past her like a man possessed, trying to go around the mess of tarpaulins. Looking for Tazok, no doubt. But there was another enemy in the back which they hadn’t accounted for yet. She kicked the mage off her sword and made to warn him. Before she could take another step, though, an arrow pierced Kivan in the arm. As he stumbled back with a grunt, a man emerged from a crouch behind the crates of goods and took a swing at the elf with a two-handed sword. Kivan went down in a spray of blood. Realisation dawned on Elene that the man was Teven, the Talon commander she saw earlier.

Yet she felt no fear as she raised her sword to face him, mindful of the archer whom she could now see was a hobgoblin. All she could think of was finishing this fight quickly so she could get to Kivan. An idea formed in her head.

“You messed with the wrong people, girl,” Teven growled, looming over her.

“I’d say the same of you,” she replied venomously.

Her off-hand wove a quick pattern in the air as she pointed at him with her sword hand, snarling a command word and channelling all her anger into the spell. To the rest of the room, nothing happened. To Teven, however, the parts of his armour and clothing which were not metal combusted in a sudden burst of magic. He yelled in shock and pain, dropping his sword to bat at the tongues of fire slowly consuming him, the overpowering heat driving him to panic. As absorbed as he was in the task, he was in no position to defend himself when Elene launched a throwing knife into his eye from close range.

Once again, a tingling feeling warned her of an incoming arrow. She neatly sidestepped it even as Teven’s lifeless body collapsed in a heap. Looking up, she glared at the hobgoblin who was backing away even further from her. The question of whether she should pursue or tend to Kivan was rendered moot, however, when Xan suddenly materialised behind the hobgoblin with his moonblade at the ready. Relief flooded through her. If anyone could finish the job, it was Xan.

She rushed over to Kivan, putting her sword down with a clatter and turning him over. A cry of dismay escaped her when she saw the extent of the damage. Teven’s strike had cleaved clean through the ranger’s leather armour, cutting a gaping red slash across his left torso. It was bleeding heavily even as Kivan laboured for each breath. She was no healer, but she knew a mortal wound when she saw one. A paltry healing potion wasn’t going to cut it.

“Kivan,” she whispered fearfully.

He cracked his eyelids open and focused on her, his amber eyes glazed with pain. Any hesitation on her part faded away in that instant.

_I cannot let him die._

“I’m going to help you,” she told him.

Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over him to put her hand on his ruined chest. She reached deep within herself for that spark of power, whatever it was, and sensed that it had swelled grotesquely in strength since the last time she searched for it. Her heart raced, all her senses sharpened into hyper-focus. Not caring what it meant in that moment, she drew upon the power, all of it, and gathered it into her hand, as if it was a tangible thing.

In between breaths, she thought of Gorion. She remembered finding his body on that chilly morning in Mirtul, recalled how similar it was to Kivan’s current state. A diagonal slash from a two-handed sword had ended the man who was her father in all but name. And she was left there cradling his cold corpse, left reeling in the void he left behind. Her abilities could not have saved them from the monster who hunted her that night, but now she had the means to save those she cared about. And she would do everything in her power to make sure they would not be killed in her name as Gorion was.

Gritting her teeth, she poured the mysterious energy into Kivan’s wound, far more than she’d ever attempted before with Imoen and even herself. She willed his body to repair itself, to undo the damage done by his foe. Above all, she willed for him to live. For a few frightening seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, he let out a sharp gasp, his hand closing around her wrist in a vice grip. She winced in pain but kept flowing the energy through to her friend.

Once there was no further power left for her to tap, she rocked back on her heels, breathing hard. It had been mere seconds, but she felt like she had been running full tilt for hours. She felt…emptied. For the first time that night, she was completely aware of all the aches and pains she’d accumulated through the running battles, the sting of acid burns adorning her right side, the sticky wetness of blood on her face and clothing. She then noticed Kivan was still gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise. But he was alive. And he was staring at her with something akin to fear.

“What…what did you do?” he rasped.

She swallowed, shaken by the look in his eyes. “I…made it better.”

“Better…” he trailed off, sucking in a shaky breath. After a few moments, he squeezed his eyes shut, bitter disappointment marring his features. His hand slid off her wrist. “He is not here.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” she agreed with a sigh, looking around at the empty tent, noticing the silence for the first time. She shook her head, trying to dislodge a sudden bout of dizziness. Then her hand closed around his shoulder as the other pulled a potion from her belt. “Here, you should still take this. And we should get that arrow out.”

As she helped prop him up to take the healing potion after she’d pulled the arrow out, she was aware of Xan coming up to stand beside her, silent but for the rustle of his robes. She tried to still her mind as she glanced up at him and wondered how much the enchanter had seen. As ever, though, his patrician features betrayed nothing even as he took in the battered sight of his companions.

“Jaheira?” Elene asked him.

“She is securing the perimeter, we’re done here,” he confirmed. “But the fighting continues outside. Some of us may have to go out there.”

“I’m out of spells, but I can go,” she replied with little enthusiasm.

“First, we need to secure information.” Xan jerked his chin towards a set of chests close to a makeshift throne at one end of the area. “Looks like a good place to start.”

She squeezed Kivan’s shoulder. “You alright?”

He nodded, waving her off. She collected her discarded sword and sheathed it, heedless of the blood staining her scabbard. Moving on swiftly, she set off for the trove of chests Xan had pointed out, eyes peeled for illusions or traps with Xan close behind her. She was relieved to move on with other tasks, trying not to dwell on all that had just happened. Spotting nothing suspicious, they rifled through the first set of chests and found mostly valuables gleaming in silver or gold, which Elene tried to pocket as much of as she could. Oddly enough, the second set was a small trove of magic weapons and armour confiscated from the bandits’ victims but kept there almost like someone’s vanity collection. She left the items as they lay for Xan’s inspection.

Finally, furthest in the corner was a small, nondescript chest adorned with a simple lock. Elene unclipped her thieves’ tools from her belt as she assessed the lock. Imoen was better at this than she was, but she thought the lock mechanism looked simple enough. Before she could take a crack at it, however, she was startled by an unfamiliar whisper.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Her knife was out in a flash, aimed at the direction of the whisper. No evil mage or towering half-ogre stood there to menace her, however. Instead, semi-hidden on the other side of the makeshift throne, she found herself staring at an elven-looking man so thin and bedraggled that he seemed almost a part of the rancid pile of blankets he lay in. A rope was tied around his neck, which connected to a post driven into the ground, leaving him tethered there like a dog. A tired, beaten dog.

“Who are you?” she demanded, reminded of Xan as she found him in the Mines.

“Someone with friendly advice.” A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips. “That chest is trapped.”

She glanced back at the chest. Deciding that he posed no threat to her, she peered more closely at the flooring under the chest. Sure enough, barely noticeable was the ends of a rune carved underneath. It was difficult to determine the precise shape of it, but she suspected it would trigger either a bolt of fire or lightning on an unsuspecting thief. Working quickly, she knelt and gently brushed the tip of the rune with her fingers, dissipating the magic transcribed in it. A faint hum murmured in the silence as the rune was deactivated. Then it became a simple task of picking the lock, which gave with a satisfying click when she was done.

“A prisoner,” Xan observed as he studied the man who warned her. “I’m beginning to think these enemies we face have an unhealthy fixation on elves.”

Elene popped the chest open, her eyes scanning the contents. “I think you may be onto something there.” Jackpot. Inside was a mess of letters and even what seemed to be a journal. She grabbed at everything she could get her hands on, then foisted them to Xan. “Scroll case.”

By the time Jaheira and Ajantis came to check on them, the two elves were almost done stashing all the correspondences into Xan’s magic scroll container, which could keep far more than its slim design hinted at. The paladin’s eyes narrowed when he saw the prisoner.

“We should release him,” said Ajantis.

“Later, once the camp is cleared of enemies,” was Jaheira’s brusque reply.

“Kivan’s hurt,” Elene told her.

“So are you,” the druid raised an eyebrow at her. “Come here and let me heal that.”

It didn’t hurt as much to move her right arm once the worst of the acid burns were healed, Elene noticed. Together, they decided that Elene, Jaheira and Ajantis would go back out to reinforce Sorrel’s group while Xan and Kivan defended the main tent as their final rally point if things went pear-shaped as the fighting wore on.

Stepping out into the night once more, Elene could hear combat in full swing nearby. Unsheathing her sword, she surveyed the immediate carnage around her. Vai and her accompanying Fists lay on the ground, unmoving in pools of blood. The huge man who barred their way was also down for the count, but unlike them, he was still breathing. He did not have long to live, though, judging from the severity of his wounds. The Fists had done their job, small comfort as it was to the dead.

The man’s head lolled as she approached, his dark, gimlet eyes peering at her profile in the dancing light of the nearby torches. Recognition flickered in his eyes. “You’re the girl Tazok wanted,” he wheezed through bloodied lips.

“Why is he after me?” she glared at him.

He chuckled, but then trailed off into a wet cough. “Far be it for me to question my employer. The money was good while it lasted.”

This man must be the leader of the Talons, she realised. Tenhammer Khosann, Kagain had called him. Her blood simmered at his nonchalance, his indifference at the suffering and carnage his men had inflicted on the people and families they’d descended on. All in the name of coin.

It made her angry.

“Where is Tazok?” she heard herself ask, a note of strain entering her voice.

“Do me a favour and sod off, poppet. I’m more afraid of what the ogre can do to me than anything your pretty little head can muster,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

Elene cocked her head at him. “Fair enough.”

With a quick twirl of her wrist, she brought her sword down on the man’s tree trunk of a neck. His head detached from his shoulders, then rolled off to settle a few feet away. Behind her, she could feel the shocked stares of Xan, Jaheira and Ajantis on her back as she shook off blood from her blade. Calmly, she raised her eyes to gaze at the flickering shadows of men clashing further within the camp, then strode off to join the battle.


	18. The flotsam and jetsam

Xan shifted in his chair.

For a long moment, he felt ill-at-ease meeting the eyes of this man in front of him, clad as he was in torn clothing, his features marred with bruises which would take days to fully subside even with healing. If he were honest with himself, he knew the reason why. It was like looking in the mirror, at how he must have appeared when this unlikely group of allies had rescued him from his dismal fate in Nashkel Mines.

The man, Ender Sai, gazed back at him with the tranquillity of morning zephyr. At least his face was clean now, even if nothing much could be done for his matted blonde hair. He sat on the ground with his back against one of the chests in the main tent, too weak to even raise himself into a proper seat. But he looked almost…content in that moment.

“Ask your questions,” Ender Sai gestured towards him. “This is a debt I am more than happy to settle in full, friend.”

Still bothered by the sight of him, Xan looked around at his gathered companions before proceeding. Jaheira stood behind him and to his right, as firm and unmoving as one of her beloved forest trees, despite the multitude of cuts adorning her extremities. The strength-enhancing potion she drank last night had worn off, likely leaving her fatigued, but she displayed no signs of weakness. Close by, Sorrel had seated himself on a crate, pressing a bundle of cloth to a still bleeding cut on his forehead. His eyes were stormy, still trying to deal with the loss of his commander, not to mention most of his men. Finally, further behind in the corner, Elene lurked there almost blending into the shadows, silent and still. Not a word escaped her lips since her summary execution of the leader of the Black Talons.

They all looked to him to begin. Xan cleared his throat and turned back to their guest.

“You said you knew who Tazok work for?” he started with the burning question.

The immediate response he received was an amused quirk of the lips from the other elf. “If you’d asked Tenhammer and his Chill partner, Crush, they woulda told you he worked for the Zhentarim.”

“I didn’t.” Xan raised an eyebrow. “I’m asking you.”

Ender Sai’s smile widened, as if pleased that he’d caught on to his joke. “That’s the trick, see? Tenhammer and Crush both think he’s getting orders from the Zhents and Tazok doesn’t do much to discourage that line of thinking. But the Black Talons and Chill are bandit groups, see? They ply the trade routes, avoid the cities, and that’s where they go wrong. I’m from the Gate and I can tell you dead as leather that the Zhents aren’t behind this.”

“A desire for silence isn't the only reason I wear soft-soled boots. I wear 'em so I can tell whose toes I'm treading on. I didn't mess with no Zhentarim. I picked my enemies and I messed with one group and one group only.” He leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “The Iron Throne.”

Out of his line of sight, Xan heard Sorrel start, the sudden creak of movement in metal plate grating in the silence. But the newly promoted Fist captain did not interrupt. Xan filed away the observation for later reference.

“And right as rain, here I am as Tazok’s personal prisoner.” Ender Sai pointed to his right ear, which had its tip cut off. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he did the song and dance they usually do with their prisoners. But he made sure to keep me alive, kept prodding me on what I knew instead of shipping me off with the others. You do the math.”

Xan frowned. “Who was giving orders to him? And where was he taking the other prisoners?”

“Tazok's been making regular visits to the Cloakwood, so that's where I'd start if I were you. You missed him by a couple of days, he’d just left with the last batch of prisoners, for Mask knows what.” Pausing, Ender Sai then jerked his chin towards the trove of chests nearby. “The documents in that chest, those would be worth taking a look at, too. Not the brightest, this Tazok. He hung on to letters when I woulda burned them.”

_Much like Mulahey. Birds of a feather do flock together, it seems._

“Would those letters say anything about a woman he’s after?” Xan asked, wondering momentarily what Elene was thinking.

“Ah,” Ender Sai’s copper-coloured eyes flicked shrewdly toward a spot above Xan’s right shoulder. “You mean this young lady here. Elene, was it? Orders from the top, those were. Someone really wants her found and dealt with. You must be a real thorn on their side, my lady, whoever you are.”

Jaheira nudged Xan in the shoulder. He nodded, sensing it was time to divert the topic back to safer territory, namely back to the man he was questioning. Judging from his style, he must be an experienced spy or informant, much like himself. He was not an agent of Evereska, none of those operated out of Baldur’s Gate. Since Jaheira did not know him, he also ruled out the Harpers, and he did not strike him as a Zhent. It certainly begged the next question, though he doubted he would get a straight answer from the crafty man.

“Alright. Now who do you work for?” he asked, leaning forward.

The elf chuckled softly. “I’ve learned a long time ago the best person to work for is yourself. Consider me a…benevolent rogue, unhappy with how some people are running their business.”

Xan watched his face but could not detect any deception. “How did you get captured?”

“Complacency, I guess?” Ender Sai sighed. “I shadowed his courier, Tranzig, but stayed too long in Beregost. One evening, I had a nice meal and wine, the next morning I woke tied up in a wagon heading for this camp.”

“Then it might please you to know that Tranzig is dead,” the enchanter remarked.

A grin broke out on the other man’s face. “Oh, that it does, my lord. That it does.”

He smiled slightly. “What will you do next?”

“Me?” Ender Sai seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “Maybe sell some of this information to an interested party, someone who can do something with it. After that, I’m gonna take a break from this spying business for a while. What they put me through here…” he trailed off, his eyes taking on a faraway look, “Makes me rethink a lot of things.”

“I can only imagine,” muttered Xan. He wished he was in a position to rethink many things in his own life. Alas, duty always came first. “It’s best you come with us when we leave this place. We can help you get to the Friendly Arm Inn. From there, your path is your own.”

“That’s kind of you, my lord. I’ll take you up on that offer.” Ender Sai ducked his head, his eyes alighting on the moonblade sheathed at the enchanter’s waist. “When you head off to step on some toes, you can tell them Ender Sai sent you.”

“Duly noted,” Xan replied drily as he rose from his seat.

“We head off in an hour or so,” said Jaheira. “We will get a suitable wagon for you.”

“Much obliged. I wouldn’t be able to walk now to save my life,” Ender Sai tipped his imaginary hat at the druid.

Out of the corner of his eye, Xan saw Elene slip away. He would need to have a word with her later, he thought. There were things he witnessed last night which gave him cause for concern when it comes to her behaviour. Not that he felt he had a right to dictate it, mind. When it comes to her, he felt a sense of responsibility over a young elf looking for the right path to walk. The current path she was on was certainly not it.

He handed Ender Sai his own waterskin and left the tent with Jaheira and Sorrel. The sun was rising at last. Small comfort it was, as he knew the camp won’t look any better in daylight. With the number of bodies strewn about, the carrion birds would feast for days.

They walked some distance away to get out of range of Ender Sai’s elven hearing. Xan glanced at Sorrel next to him. Despite his blasé nature, the man had surprised him with his ability to launch a cohesive attack, then create enough havoc in situ to keep the rest of the camp off them as they eliminated the leaders. It came at a cost, of course. Of the three dozen Fists they attacked with, barely a dozen would live to walk away after last night.

Despite the eradication of the bandit camp, Xan felt it a pyrrhic victory. He guessed that Sorrel shared his sentiment, judging from his subdued features.

“What do you make of all that?” Sorrel asked as he scanned the skies.

“Hearsay, coming from one source,” answered Jaheira without hesitation. Out here, away from the strange elf, she allowed herself to slouch a little. “We will need to go through the documents in detail to verify what he says, but I think he is right about prisoners being taken elsewhere. Khalid found a number of cages and many manacles fitted into the cave, but not a prisoner in sight.”

“Why Cloakwood?” Xan wondered. “I thought it was a deep wilderness, untouched by men.”

Jaheira shot him a wry look. “Precisely where I would want to hide my operations. Cloakwood used to be settled by dwarves long ago. There may be something left over from that time that Tazok and his people have found use of.”

“I wish some things would just stay buried,” the elf grumbled. Then he turned to Sorrel. “And you? What do you make of it?”

Sorrel absently pressed the cloth in his hand against his head. “Well, this is a big mess for the Fists, make no mistake. One Officer dead with dozens others. We won’t be able to chase this lead with you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll be spending the next year filling out paperwork.” He sighed, glancing over to where Vai had fallen with her men. “It’s a shame about Jessa. She was the best captain I’ve ever worked for.”

Xan nodded in sympathy, but pressed on remembering his reaction to something Ender Sai said, “What about the Iron Throne? Do you know much about them?”

“Those rich boys from Cormyr? Yeah, I know them,” he scoffed, lips curling in disgust. “Hard to believe, though. Why would stuck-up merchants hire Talons and Chill to raid caravans? I mean, I’ve seen them around the Gate, they have this big headquarter close to the docks. But all they seem to do is go to all the nice parties with all the right people.”

_On the surface, at least. Who knows what that varnished exterior hides underneath?_

“That’s the lead we have right now, like it or not,” Jaheira replied, her tone indifferent. “We will have to pursue this to Cloakwood and see what we find there. If we come back alive, we can share our findings.”

It was a close thing, but Xan almost smiled. In his dealings with adventurers, it was rare to find a true professional like Jaheira.

“Suit yourself,” Sorrel shrugged. “You’ve more than done your part here. I’ll have your reward waiting in Beregost when you’re ready to collect it. Honestly, I’ve lost count of how many your people killed, but I’ll work something out with the bookkeeper.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she answered with a thin smile.

“Mind helping me with one more thing?” He looked around awkwardly. “We’ll be heading out soon, but I’d rather not leave my comrades out in the open like this. If you could help me and the boys with the pyre, I’d really appreciate it.”

Her features softened at that. “Yes. Of course.”

“Go ahead. Fire is not my strong suit,” Xan deflected.

“No, I’d get the elf girl for that,” the Fist corporal half-smiled. “Great work she did. Her and that other girl. No idea where she got that pack of worgs came from, but it sure helped with the first push. Glad to have them on board.”

An unexpected prickle of pride ran through Xan at his statement. It seemed that his teachings were not completely pointless, after all. Both girls had tremendous potential for magic, they simply needed the right avenue to apply themselves. Committing arson on a large scale was not something he would have advocated for as a practical test, but it had worked for Elene. A literal trial by fire. But he agreed, she had outdone herself despite his concerns.

“We’d best get a move on.” Sorrel turned away, giving the elf a casual salute as he did. “Master elf.”

Jaheira went with him, leaving Xan alone with his thoughts. He’d buried enough friends in his lifetime to be averse to what Sorrel had to do. By some sheer miracle, he wouldn’t be burying any of his own companions that day.

Khalid and Imoen had limped away with injuries, various nicks and cuts and certainly arrow wounds. The Talons had rallied towards the end for a last hurrah, and it was that last counterattack that nearly broke Sorrel’s group. Garrick had barely survived, the bard proving unsuited for all-out combat. In contrast, Xan will never forget how Kagain stood at the fore and took the brunt of the attack like the prow of a ship cutting through torrential waters. To his shock, the dwarf had lived after the fact, even as all who had stood with him perished. A true testament to dwarven hardiness.

In his introspection, Xan took to wandering the camp, evaluating the aftermath. Full-scale assaults had never been his forte. You can’t persuade your way out of a life-or-death fracas, for one thing. If things had boiled over to that point, his core mission would have likely been a failure. The last time he had seen death on this scale was an attack on slavers which specialised in elven ‘goods’ more than a decade ago. It had taken him days to wash off the stench of blood from his things, and years after to wash it off his conscience. He knew he had done the right thing in the end but killing on such a scale always bothered him.

He spotted Kagain rifling through the belongings of a dead Talon, muttering bitterly to himself as he did. No wonder he was in such a foul mood. With everyone dead, he would have to part the answers from the dead to find out what had happened to his caravan. Gruesome work, but surely the copper-pinching mercenary would be able to find some consolation in his search. Gold was something of an analgesic for some people, or so he was told.

Further ahead was Ajantis, wrapping bandages around Garrick’s middle. The paladin was a solid partner in battle, Xan had to give him that. Justice served, he’d offered to watch over Ender Sai and ensure he made it back to civilisation safely. His only unhappiness was that they were unable to save more prisoners. As for the bard, it was unlikely he would consider a long career in adventuring after his injuries. Young as they were, even Elene and Imoen had more grit than the boy, he thought. He should stick to taverns or royal balls and the like.

What about himself, though? It seemed the more they dug into this iron crisis, the deeper the rabbit hole went. His superiors must really be having a laugh sending him on his own for this one. Yet they’d entrusted it to him for a reason, surely. He’d long mocked the collective wisdom of the elder Greycloaks but he’d never questioned their intent.

Could he say for sure this plot would not threaten Evereska? He still didn’t have the answer to that. There was nothing for it but to continue down the rabbit hole, it seemed.

He paused as he came across a body on the ground, one which stood out against the rest despite the full-faced helm concealing the man’s face. A slender Flaming Fist man clad in scale mail rather than the customary plate of his brethren. Sighing, he offered a soft prayer to Naralis Analor to guide the man’s departed soul to the afterlife. He didn’t know Godric well, but he seemed to be a good, dutiful sort. Another one parted from this world too soon while viler creatures walk on to prey on the living.

It was, as Sorrel said, a shame.

As he continued his aimless stroll, his ears picked up a heated conversation not far away. Familiar voices, he realised. Quietly, he crept forward, hoping to catch snippets of Kivan and Elene’s disagreement.

“…if we missed him by days, we can catch up if we move now.”

A sigh. “You know very well that most of us are in no shape to go chasing after Tazok’s band. Into the Cloakwood forest, no less. We need to rest and recuperate first.”

Kivan replied with a scoff, the derision in it audible even from afar.

“ _You_ can rest. I’m going after him.”

“Kivan, please. You almost got killed rushing in on your own last night. Don’t throw your life away.”

“I am _not_ throwing my life away. Don’t you understand? For as long as I draw breath, I will never have peace while that beast still lives.”

“And you _will_. I promise you, you will. But your odds are better with us. Stay with us. Please.”

Xan stilled just as he was about to round the corner. They had both gone silent. He wondered if they’d heard him and stalled their conversation to avoid him eavesdropping. As it was, he would never have been able to get up this close without at least Kivan noticing his presence, but he supposed they were both distracted. Carefully, he peered over the tent blocking his path just in time to see Kivan step up to Elene and grasp her on both arms.

“Just because you promise it will happen, doesn’t mean it will. You need to open your eyes and see the world for what it is.” He shook her a little, as if to jolt her awake. “It doesn’t work like in the books, the gallant heroes clinching justice just because they’re meant to. In the real word, the villains get away.”

“And just because you chase off after his shadow now, doesn’t mean you will find him. Or manage to kill him.” She answered, voice gentle despite the sting to her words. Her hand rose to grasp at his forearm. “We’re still on the right path, Kivan. Let us stay on it, as a group. None of us would have been able to accomplish what we did here on our own. You have to admit that much, at least.”

He let her go, as if her touch burned him. “Why are you doing this? Why should you care? If it’s about the life debt you feel you owe, you’ve repaid it with…whatever it was that you did.”

“But that wasn’t the deal, remember?” She tilted her head. “I didn’t say I’d save your life, I promised you I’d help with what you needed done.” Smiling slightly, she added, “Come to think of it, you were the one who said we will see this through together. So why don’t we regroup, strategise this, and _then_ go after that bastard. Won’t that give you a better shot?”

For a long time, he simply watched her, not saying anything. She in turn stood her ground, waiting for his response. The impasse ended when he spotted Xan, standing at a distance. The ranger clenched his jaw and stepped away from her.

“I will hold you to your word, Elene. We do it your way for now.”

Kivan walked away from her, towards Xan. They said nothing to one another as the ranger moved past him to head back to where the funeral pyre was being set up, eyes blazing with emotion. Likely Kivan would be walking around with a chip in his shoulder for as long as they weren’t on the most direct route to Tazok. He would have to keep an eye on his kinsman, in case he did anything reckless.

Once he was sure Kivan was out of hearing range, he approached Elene. She looked so small for someone who had carved a bloody swathe through her foes in the night. Perhaps that was why she was able to accomplish it in the first place, because no one saw it coming. Well, that and his continued interference in her fights. For certain, if he hadn’t intervened to support her in her mad dash through the main tent, she may not be standing there now.

“I commend your effort with him, but I fear it may be futile,” he commented as he drew close.

Her fine features drew into an obstinate look. “It’s not futile, he’s coming with us to Cloakwood.”

Xan sighed, both amazed and frustrated at her naivety. “He cannot see past his own grief, Elene. He will either overcome it in time, or he will get himself killed in the attempt.”

“How could you say that? He’s our friend,” she rounded on him, eyes wide.

“Friend or no, the point stands. We cannot save people from themselves. They choose what to make of their lives.” He levelled a cool look upon her, deciding to attempt a direct approach. “You would do well to remember that, given where your own life is heading.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean. Certainly, enough men have died by your hand mere hours ago, some of whom could have been spared for questioning. Not that you cared, the way you were carrying on,” he huffed. “You walk a dangerous tightrope, more so than even Kivan. I would ask you to be mindful. If you fall on the wayside, the road to redemption will be a long one, if you ever find it at all.”

“I’m not a child for you to be lecturing me, Xan,” she replied, an uncharacteristic chill in her tone.

“Oh, for certain you are not. A child would not have been able to do what you did.”

“Those were wicked men, who have done terrible things,” she bristled at his sarcasm. “Do they deserve to keep their lives after what they’ve done?”

“You don’t get to decide that, Elene.”

“Then who does?” Her glare emanated the same cold anger she’d exhibited throughout her understated rampage through the camp. “You? Jaheira?”

It seemed she was still sore from the bust up she had with Jaheira immediately after they’d made the camp safe. Likely she’d been confronted with the same points by the druid and was not up for another argument on it with him. Xan relaxed his shoulders slightly, reconsidering his approach. He needed her to listen to him, not fight him. He would have to try another tack.

“Ultimately, no one should get to decide on a whim,” he answered slowly. “I’m not going to lie and say I have never executed anyone in my line of work. But the reasons why you go to such lengths must be strong and very clear. Or it will haunt you later in life. And we are a long-lived people.” He threw her an expectant look. “Now do _you_ know your reasons as well as you think you do?”

Her eyes flicked off into the distance in thought. Some of the anger in her stance dissipated as if she was caught unprepared by his question. There it was, he observed. The thinking scholar had finally resurfaced.

“I…” she began, then paused. She ran a hand over the loose hair had begun to stick out in the heat, then dropped her gaze.

_If I know her by now, she will try to evade my question like she would a swing from a blade._

“I’m almost two hundred years old, I can wait another hundred for your answer,” he remarked mildly.

Elene glanced at him in surprise before recovering her wits. “Well, that answers one question I’ve always wanted to ask,” a smile ghosted on her lips, almost too quick to notice before she turned sombre. It was a while before she continued, “As for your question…when it was happening, I was very clear that it had to be done. Now…” she trailed off.

“Not so sure?” he ventured.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “There are many things I still don’t understand and can’t connect with. The dreams, the powers. I don’t have the benefit of this… connection to elven-ness that you and Kivan do, to balance it out.” A note of rawness had entered her voice. “It doesn’t help that every time I speak with you, I keep getting reminded that I lack something to centre on. I wish I had clear answers to give. To you and Jaheira. But really, I don’t.”

Xan frowned, disturbed that he had that effect on her. It never occurred to him that she would see him as a reminder of her presumed shortcomings. Perhaps he needed to really understand this dichotomy in her, rather than try to reach out to her as a fellow elf. She demonstrated surprising capacity to influence and drive others yet deep down, she herself was racked with crippling uncertainties. Admirable, but she can be likened to a candle that burns itself. Unsustainable.

“I apologise,” he bowed his head. “I had no idea you felt that way, it was never my intent. I thought you, curious as you are, would like to know more about that side of yourself. For elves, the Seldarine is our source. To be cut off from it…it puts you at risk to other,” he paused, choosing his next words, “less benevolent influences in this Realm. I didn’t wish you to come to harm out of ignorance.”

“I suppose you’re coming from a good place.” She sighed. “So is Jaheira, in her own way.”

“You don’t need to have the answers now, Elene. I only ask that you think on it. The Life changes people, and seldom for the better,” he told her.

“I’m…beginning to see that,” she agreed, fatigue clear in her posture. “I will consider your words, Xan.”

He nodded. That was the best he could do for now, he knew. He would take what he could get.

The smell of smoke began to waft in the air. Xan looked up at the beginnings of smoke from the funeral pyre, felt a morbid twinge of envy for the dead. At least their troubles were over. It felt like his was just beginning.


	19. The balm for the soul

The statue of Garl Glittergold glimmered in the candlelight, eye-catching in the gloom of the temple. Contrary to rumours, though, it was a bust made of copper with two sheens of gold plating. The last time Gellana Mirrorshade commissioned a small statuette of pure gold, it had cost her no end of grief when it had been stolen in the night within a month. At least it would be cheaper for her to replace this one if an enterprising thief ever decided to test the truth of the rumours.

Of course, Khalid had warned Imoen not to try her luck. It wasn’t worth upsetting the Mirrorshades for.

He had seated himself on one of the benches in the temple foyer, rotating his shoulder to test muscle reaction. His rib injury from an errant mace and the various cuts and bruises from the bandit camp fight were almost fully healed. Jaheira really was a miracle worker. He’d been quite worried his recovery would slow them down, but it looked like they’d be ready to set out to the Cloakwood forest the next morning after all.

After a few more minutes of silent contemplation, a door opened with a creak. A middle-aged gnomish woman strode out from the back room grasping a large cloth bundle in each hand. The bundles clinked as she moved.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, dear. Here’s what you asked for,” Gellana Mirrorshade approached him with a matronly smile.

He had known the Mirrorshades for more than a decade and while Bentley had lost hair and grew somewhat podgier, she hadn’t changed one bit over the years. The cleric ran the Temple of Garl Glittergold as a both a place of supplication and a reputable restocking depot for adventurers in need of potions and antidotes. She was the most reliable potion maker for miles and a sight friendlier than Thalantyr in High Hedge.

Khalid returned her smile, taking the bundles from her. “It is no trouble, Gellana. Thank you for getting these ready at such short notice. How much do I owe you?”

“For you, 80 gold per bottle. But don’t spread that around,” she winked.

“You’re too kind.”

As he handed her the gold, she gazed at him with shrewd eyes. “‘Tis a lot of antivenom for a simple adventuring run. If I didn’t know any better, I’d venture you’re either going to face a den of assassins or going to the Cloakwoods.”

Keeping his features carefully neutral, he rebalanced the bundles in his hands, taking care not to jostle the glass vials within too much. “Just taking precautions, you know. Never know what we could be facing out there.”

A corner of her lips quirked, as if to say, ‘have it your way’.

“Of course.” She rested her hand briefly on arm. “Do be careful, dear. You and Jaheira both.”

“We will. Thank you again, Gellana.”

Khalid ducked his head in farewell. The last rays of the sun greeted him as he exited the temple. It was almost time for dinner, he thought. A small smile escaped him as he thought of Imoen bounding down the steps of the Inn aiming for Bentley’s famous roast beef. Like him, she had also recovered from her injuries and had been making the best of their layover at the Friendly Arm Inn.

Walking back the main inn building, he wished the rest of his companions had taken the same opportunity. Kivan had made himself scarce the moment they arrived, continuing his oddly recalcitrant behaviour since they’d regrouped after the battle with the bandits. His kinsman, Xan, was his usual reclusive self except at mealtimes while Elene…well, she worried him the most of late.

He’d been on watch the second night after they’d left the butchered camp. She had bolted upright in her bedroll in the twilight hours, clutching at herself as though she’d just taken an arrow to the chest. It took her long minutes to ease her ragged breathing, fear tangible in her tremoring shoulders. He’d called to her, looking to give comfort.

When she looked up, he swore her eyes flashed yellow in the darkness. And just as quickly, it was gone.

He never told Elene what he saw for fear of further alarming her, though he did confide in Jaheira. Beyond that, her night terrors were becoming an increasing cause of concern. She’d kept her word about telling Jaheira and himself about what she saw in those dreams. Worryingly, she also said she’d felt stronger after one of the dreams. Privately, he began to suspect there was something malevolent fuelling those dreams and the voice but he was both at a loss on how to deal with her problem without knowing its source.

Potion bottles clinking, he gingerly took the steps to the inn. Inside, the dinner crowd had begun to trickle in, tables slowly filling with people as delicious aroma wafted out from the kitchens. Most there were messengers or those who travelled looking for odd jobs. It would be a while before people would dare to chance the roads again, even after the Fists had spread the good news about clearing the bandit cancer. People were still wary, and for good reason.

The enchanted lights illuminating the room had just begun their gleam when Khalid made his way to the back, close to where the taps were. Their friendship with Bentley had secured them the most secluded table in the room, where Imoen, Elene and Xan were already seated and waiting for their evening meal. Khalid smiled at each of them as he set his bundles down on floor under the table, away from prying eyes.

“Heya, Khalid,” Imoen grinned at him as he settled down next to her. “Got the good stuff?”

“Should be enough for our trip, I hope. Jaheira has some spells on hand as well,” he replied.

“We’ll be fine,” the red-headed thief drawled before leaning towards Elene sitting opposite. “So, anyways Lene, I didn’t have a chance to even ask him if he’d wanna join us. He immediately sorta went ohh this may not be the life for me after all. Death is fascinating, but I would look on it from afar, ensconced in a well-lit tavern or some nonsense.” She huffed. “So much for that!”

Khalid looked at Xan opposite in mild confusion, but the elf just shook his head wearily as if to say, ‘don’t get involved’. Heeding the unspoken advice, the warrior flagged a nearby barmaid to ask for his dinner. After a bit of hesitation, he also requested for Bentley’s best Evermead. It was a bit of a luxury, but given that they’d be returning to the wilderness for an interminable period, he figured he should enjoy it while he could.

As he was putting in his order, Elene smiled over the rim of her mug. “I’m not terribly surprised, to be honest. Garrick didn’t seem very suited to adventuring life.”

“Says the librarian!”

“Scribe-in-training, if you please.” Elene tapped the table to emphasise her point, yet her eyes were twinkling in amusement. “But honestly, don’t get too broken up about it, Im. When a door closes, a window opens somewhere, so Parda used to say.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” Imoen pouted. “So, he’ll be in Beregost for a while before trying to hitch a ride with Ajantis. He said he was going back to Athkatla once everything’s been sorted out with the Fists.”

Khalid barely remembered the journey back to Beregost with the remaining Fists. He’d spent the whole journey trying to ignore the burden of his injuries as the wagon they had could just about fit Ender Sai and a few badly wounded Fists. Once in Beregost, though, Khalid and Imoen had spent most of the time at the Jovial Juggler with Jaheira to recover. Meanwhile, the elves had gone off to run the necessary errands and pick up supplies. They’d only regrouped in time to travel to the Friendly Arm Inn.

With hefty purses, of course. Sorrel had more than delivered on his promise on a sizeable reward.

“That will be soon then. With the Fists vouching for him, Ajantis probably can’t wait to go back and get knighted,” her friend replied with a half-shrug. “He said we should look him up at the Order of the Most Radiant of Heart if we’re ever in Athkatla. I have no idea where that is, but it does sound quite grand.”

“Are you planning to? He seemed to take a shine to you,” smirked Imoen.

Elene let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Imoen replied, rolling her eyes but letting the matter go. “What happened to Kagain, anyway? Still can’t believe he walked outta that final wave in one piece.”

“We saw him yesterday when we passed by his shop,” Elene gestured at herself and Xan. “He looked none the worse for wear. I suppose he’d found what he was looking for. We didn’t really feel like saying hello and asking him ourselves.”

“It is unlikely he would be able to show his face in Baldur’s Gate anytime soon. Whatever he found, it won’t bring the Duke’s son back from the dead,” remarked Xan.

“How do you know he’s dead, though? What if he’s in the Cloakwood to be ransomed?” Imoen wanted to know.

Xan’s face was grim. “Not from what Ender Sai told us.”

“You spent quite some time with him on the way back. Did he offer anything else of use?” Khalid asked.

“Not much. Only that the Iron Throne had wronged him in one of their past trades.”

“I still find it odd that he doesn’t work for anyone,” mused the half-elf.

“He should not concern us. We have bigger things to worry about.”

Xan seemed like he was about to continue, but stopped as a red-faced woman approached the table, arms laden with trays of food. Imoen’s eyes lit up as the spread was set on the table, consisting of various cuts of meat, bread, soup and roasted vegetables. Khalid smiled, noting that he was not the only one feeling indulgent that evening.

“Miss, could you…er…cancel my order from just now? I’ll just have the mead,” he spoke up.

“Aye, if the kitchen hasn’t start on it. Would you like the dessert served now, or after, maam?” the server asked Imoen.

“Later,” Elene and Xan replied simultaneously, the former shooting an embarrassed look at her friend.

“But I do want that pudding!” Imoen called out to the server as she left.

“Im, this…this is a lot,” Elene goggled at the food on offer.

“Isn’t it great? Let’s dig in!”

And so, they tucked in. Khalid watched without comment as Elene took food onto her plate and proceeded to barely touch it. Flicking his eyes toward Xan, he saw that the enchanter noticed the same thing.

Talk went on about their inventory and how best to divvy up the supplies among them. From the letters they’d secured in the camp, it was clear they would be facing someone named Davaeorn in Cloakwood. This base of his must be sizeable, judging from his demand for ‘another ton of ore’ and seeming capability to ‘stockpile as much ore as possible’. Jaheira suspected it was a mine, hidden deep within the woods.

As the conversation went on, Khalid’s much awaited mead arrived. He took his first sip with a soft sigh. Trust Bentley to have kitchen staff thoughtful enough to cool the drink before serving it. A great balm for the soul on such a warm day.

They then moved on to discuss the route they would take. The journey would be an arduous one, with no paved roads once they leave the Lion’s Way. Not many travellers went that way, Cloakwood was a dangerous, isolated track of wilderness full of spiders, feral beasts and wyverns. Even with Kivan and Jaheira guiding them, it could be another month before they return to civilisation again, much to Imoen’s disgruntlement.

“Kivan mentioned he picked up some arrows from the Smithy but I haven’t seen him all day,” Imoen remarked as they started thinking about the start of tomorrow’s journey. “I hope he hasn’t gone off hunting with those arrows or anything.”

Elene’s lowered her eyes to her plate but said nothing.

Glancing at her, Xan cleared his throat before commenting, “He will turn up in time to leave tomorrow, I’m sure.”

A bard began strumming his lute on the stage. It sounded like the start of a merry ditty very in line with the atmosphere of the establishment. Imoen half-turned in her chair, a somewhat wistful expression on her face. The look vanished when she spotted a familiar figure descending the steps to come into the common room.

“Looks like Jaheira’s joining us, after all,” she grinned.

Khalid turned as well. He could not help the soft smile forming as he saw his wife. Thanks to the relative safety of the inn, she had foregone her armour for a simple tunic with tights. The warm lighting cast a soft glow to her hair and skin. He thought she looked lovely.

“Good evening,” Jaheira greeted them as she pulled up a chair next to him. Her sharp eyes surveyed their table even as her hand casually brushed Khalid’s thigh. “I didn’t realise we’d be feeding an army tonight.”

“Nor I,” muttered Xan.

Imoen beamed at them in complete unrepentance.

“What did Bentley say?” Khalid asked.

“He doesn’t know much,” admitted the druid as she helped herself to some meat, “Other than a few book merchants, none come in from the west road since the bandits started moving in force. Beyond that, no one unusual stopped over in the past few weeks. Travel has been limited until the Fists can assure people the roads are safe once more.”

“He did point out there was a hunting party from Baldur’s Gate heading to the Cloakwood to hunt wyverns of all things. They set out from here barely a week ago.” She shook her head, annoyance creasing her brow. “Why anyone would be foolish enough to attempt such undertaking is beyond him, and me for that matter.”

Elene blinked. “Aren’t wyverns huge, poisonous beasts the size of a house?”

“Precisely,” Jaheira responded dryly, then gestured at the girl with a fork. “We will likely encounter one of them in the woods, but they generally leave people alone unless they stray too close to their lairs.” She paused. “Generally.”

“Worry not, Elene,” Khalid assured her. “Jaheira and I have fought such creatures before. You only need to be wary of their stinger. If any of us get unlucky in that regard, Gellana has given us enough antidotes to counteract their poison.”

“I suppose that’s…alright then,” she replied, quite unconvinced.

“Could be worse. Could be dragons,” Imoen commented with a shrug.

Xan groaned. “Yes, why don’t we tempt fate, shall we?”

Khalid hid a smile in his mug. It was always amusing to observe the dynamics between the rogue and the enchanter. The two could not be any more different in temperament, but somehow, they managed to work together well.

Dessert arrived when they were done with the main course, consisting of pudding and freshly made local sweets. The aroma was fresh, making Khalid think of the kitchens of his once-home, except Calimshite sweets smelled strongly of cinnamon and burnt sugar. Xan took a distasteful glance at the fare on offer and opted for another sip of his wine instead. On the other hand, Imoen delighted in trying a bit of everything.

Elene took a small slice of pudding onto her plate, then nudged at it for a bit.

Jaheira observed her peculiar behaviour but said nothing. “We’ve all gotten what we needed from Beregost and here. Nothing for it but to set out at first light.” She then sent a pointed look at Imoen. “Presuming we can all wake up tomorrow after this feast.”

“Sure, no problem,” Imoen said mid-chew. “We’ll be ready for it, whether it’s gibberlings or wyverns. First thing in the morning!”

“Famous last words,” Elene muttered under her breath. Khalid sensed motion under the table as the elf suddenly jerked upright in her seat. She then glared at her friend. “What was that for?”

“What was what for?” was the innocent reply.

The druid set her fork down, glowering at both girls to forestall the bickering. “We will be taking the main route through the Lion’s Way, then north and west. I believe it will take us four or five days to reach the heart of the forest. I bid you get enough rest before we head out. We don’t have a force of Flaming Fists supporting us this time.”

“Whatever they’re hiding in those woods, it is bound to be big. We’d best be prepared,” agreed Xan. He placed some coins on the table and stood. “With that, I think I will take my own advice. See you all in the morning.”

Khalid and Jaheira exchanged a look before he said, “We shall retire as well.”

“Remember,” said Jaheira as she stood. “First light tomorrow.”

“We’re having breakfast first, right?” Imoen tried her luck.

Chuckling, Khalid picked up the bundles under the table and followed his wife as she headed back to their room on the second floor. The lodgings Bentley offered them were more secluded at the end of the floor to give them privacy. It was a thoughtful gesture. With the bounty notices still floating about and their increasing notoriety after clearing out Nashkel Mines and the bandit camp, there was no telling how many enemies they’d made.

The room swam in soft colours and plush furnishings. A nice luxury after months in the wild, but one they would have to relinquish soon, Khalid thought. He lit the candelabra in the room while Jaheira assessed the antidotes he’d acquired from the temple.

“These will do nicely,” she concluded. “Gellana still has her touch.”

“She guessed where we were headed,” he told her.

His wife huffed. “Of course she did. Bentley was under no illusions on our next path as well. Sometimes I wonder why we bother to keep secrets from those two.”

“Then why don’t we just tell them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “If our enemies try to get at them, they can safely say they don’t know anything. I don’t want to put them at risk simply by saying too much.”

He watched her for some time as she walked to the dresser and began unbinding her hair from their tightly woven braids. It was in quiet moments like these he felt that the real Jaheira would come out. The woman with fears underneath the impenetrable veneer she kept on during the day. From experience, this was the best time to dig out her true thoughts.

“Is it wise to press on without Flaming Fist support, dear?” he asked quietly.

Her hands stilled in their meticulous work while she observed his reflection in the mirror. After a moment, she took a deep breath before answering, “You remember our last trip to the Cloakwoods, with Seniyad. It is a vast place with many hidden dangers. Having a large force at our back may hinder us more than it will help. Even if Sorrel managed to get his unit in order tomorrow, I still think it best if we go it alone at this stage, at least until we know what we’re up against.”

“And if we encounter another set-up like the bandit camp, we call for reinforcements?”

“It depends,” she shrugged, continuing with her task. “If it is an operation we can cripple without use of force, we can make the attempt. Our group is more suited to subterfuge than frontal assault – a dagger can work just as well as a hammer.”

“It is a heavy burden on us to carry. And I worry for Elene,” he admitted. “You saw her just now. She barely eats. Imoen tells me she doesn’t get enough rest, nightmares keep waking her even when she tries to disappear into reverie.”

“We’ve talked about this, love. Deferring the journey will not help her.” With her hair now loose on her shoulders, she turned to face him. “You saw the second letter. This Davaeorn wants us eliminated. The longer we stay idle in one place, the greater danger we will be in. Elene, especially. She must find ways to cope with her problem.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I suppose I am just concerned for her. I don’t want her to lose herself.”

“Feeling a touch fatherly, are we?” she smiled wanly at him.

He chuckled. “You could say that.”

“We will keep doing our best for her.” She reached out, touching his face. “Just as we promised Gorion.”

A soft knock jolted them, drawing their eyes to the door.

“Who is it?” Jaheira asked sharply, hand falling to her side.

“It’s me,” Elene’s muffled voice came from the other side.

Khalid promptly crossed the room to pull the door open. His ward stood outside looking oddly sheepish, her hands clasped in front of her holding a small bundle.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her even as his eyes swept the hall behind her for any threat.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I…well, I wanted to give Jaheira something.”

Jaheira appeared at the threshold. “Oh?”

Elene unwrapped the bundle, revealing a small round tin the size of her palm. It looked like the container the druid used to keep her healing salve. “Alright, maybe it’s more accurate to say ‘return’ something to you. Go on, open it.”

Curious, Jaheira took the tin and unscrewed the lid. Her expression turned into one of interest as she took a whiff of the salve within. “It…smells of flowers.”

“Lavender and chamomile to be exact,” grinned Elene. “They didn’t work that well to help me sleep, but I thought they’d help make the salve smell better at least.”

“How did you do this?” the druid asked in surprise.

Elene launched into an enthused explanation, “Oh, I kept the old flowers soaked in a bottle since the camp. Gellana let me use some of her alchemy equipment. Managed to get a thimble of essence from running the scented water through the distiller, then combined it with some things she had in her quarters. Then I mixed in the essence into your salve.” The elf held up a hand. “I don’t think it will change the effect of the salve, just the smell.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to since yesterday,” Jaheira gave her a shrewd look. “It’s…clever work.”

Elene smiled up expectantly at her. Khalid nudged his wife.

“I appreciate the thought, child,” she added belatedly, recovering from her surprise. She then sized up her ward. “In fact, while we are in the Cloakwoods, I can teach you how to make the salve itself. You seem to have a knack for alchemy.”

The elf’s smile widened at that. “I’d like that very much, Jaheira.”

Khalid’s heart clenched at the sight of almost rabid curiosity in the girl. Gorion’s influence on her was evident. If she had remained at Candlekeep, she would have likely spent many happy years making perfumed potions and salves for no reason other than it interested her. Yet somehow, Fate had other plans. Darker plans.

“Well, I’d better prepare my spells. First light tomorrow, right?” She rocked back on her heels, pleased smile still on her lips. “Have a good evening, both of you.”

And off she went, retreating back to her room opposite theirs. Husband and wife watched until she’d closed the door, waving at them as she did. Only then did they close their own door. Jaheira stared at the salve tin in her hand for a long time after that. He didn’t ask for her thoughts, because he was thinking the same thing. Having a resourceful alchemist on their team could be a boon in the long term. Potions were expensive, after all.

“Leave it to her to come up with something this frivolous,” Jaheira sighed after a while, but he could hear a trace of affection in her tone.

“You did say she needs to find ways to cope,” he remarked, amused.

“I did, didn’t I?” she smirked. “Alright then. Perhaps we can build on this.”


	20. The thief of hearts

_The waves dashed against the rocks below, white froth forming where the water met stone. Dark clouds gathered ominously overhead. Gone were the beautiful cerulean skies of summer. As the calendar crept past mid-Eleint, the weather inevitably grew stormier as the season changed._

_Elene lingered at the window she was supposed to close, breathing in the salty air. The sound of the waves almost lulled her into a meditative state. Unlike the older scribes, she preferred the western façade of Candlekeep. Being so close to the waters lent a faint air of anticipation, at the open seas that she would likely never venture onto in this lifetime. She didn’t mind the occasional spray of ocean mist that somehow made its way up to the higher floors._

_For a few long moments, she could just enjoy the sound of rough seas. And not think about last night’s dream._

_“There you are.”_

_Surprised, she turned to see Gorion approaching. He was dressed as ever in his grey and black robes, a book in his hand. His features were lined with concern. It was odd, but she’d always remembered him this way, old and worn. Never a young, happy man. She wondered if he’d ever been one._

_“I offered to close all the windows on this wing before the rain set in,” she said by way of greeting._

_He gave her a small smile, but she knew she was not fooling him. “That’s good of you. For a moment, I thought you were avoiding me._

_“I…why would I be avoiding you, Father?”_

_“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps since you did not turn up for breakfast nor shown yourself in the main reading rooms all day?” He sat on one of the benches lining the walls and beckoned for her to join him, his expression unreadable. “But then again, I could be imagining it.”_

_Swallowing, she sat next to him, her hands clasped on her lap. He said nothing for a while. Eventually, he sighed and reached over to put his hand around hers._

_“Did you have another dream?” he asked, his voice gentle._

_She closed her eyes, savouring the quiet for a few breaths. “Yes.”_

_“What did you see?”_

_A long pause went by. Gorion sat motionless, his patience seemingly endless._

_Then, finally, she answered, “A…battle. On a wide, cobbled bridge, a moonless sky overhead. Men in dark armour clashing with swords. Until one of them scored the killing blow.” She cringed, curling her fingers tighter as if enduring a phantom pain. “It was horrid, Father. It felt like I was there. It felt as though it was me who was killed. I…can’t get it out of my head. I don’t know what any of it means.”_

_More silence greeted her. She glanced up at her foster father. His eyes were glued to the floor, lines of worry creasing his forehead._

_“Nor I, child,” he finally spoke, but his voice was thick with an unknown emotion. “It could be something, it could be nothing.” His hand tightened around hers in a fatherly, reassuring way unique to him. “But I do know you should not allow it to shape your waking moments.”_

_“You mean I shouldn’t mope about it,” she furrowed her brows at him._

_Gorion chuckled. “By all means, mope if it makes you feel better. Once you’re done, however, you may want to pick something up to help you move on with your life. Preferably something useful.” He handed her a book. “Like a good read, say.”_

_Sceptical, she turned the book in her hands. It was thicker than it first seemed, she could feel the weight and age of it. ‘A treatise on astrolabes and the ability to capture time’ was written on the cover in fine gold lettering._

_“I don’t know. This…seems a bit dry for me,” she ventured uncertainly._

_“Read until the middle. Unlike most of the other material on this topic, this one actually tells you how to_ build _one,” Gorion leaned in to whisper, all faux conspiracy._

_Her eyes lit up as she pulled back to look at him in awe. “Build one? By myself?”_

_“If you wish. I could get the materials you need for your sixteenth name-day gift next month.” He smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You can do whatever good you set your mind to, my child.”_

Elene opened her eyes with a jerk, mindful of someone’s hand resting on her shoulder. Blinking, her vision adjusted to the soft light of dawn, the sky starting to brighten with the new day. Her vision quickly focused on Jaheira’s face not far from her own. The druid was already dressed in her armour, with a staff in her other hand.

“Are you coming?” she asked without preamble.

Groggily, the elf nodded, still shaking herself out of reverie. “Yes…give me a moment.”

She sat up, grimacing at the usual stiffness of laying down in a rigid leather gambeson. Only four days had passed since they left the Friendly Arm Inn and she already missed the creature comforts of a bed and uninterrupted rest. She yearned for the day when she could become a powerful enough mage to conjure pocket planes leading into elaborate abodes with transmuted beds and quilts, where it was always warm and cosy.

Assuming she survived long enough to achieve that, of course.

Gathering her weapons, she caught up to Jaheira as she was about to set off into the surrounding trees. She managed to flash a quick smile to Khalid and Xan as they left. Imoen was still fast asleep and would only wake up when Khalid got breakfast started. Their remaining companion was likely off on one of his solo patrols.

“This area is where I would expect harlthorn to grow. Do you remember what that is used for?” Jaheira asked even as she set a brisk pace through the trees.

Elene racked her brain, a challenge to recall so early in the morning. “Er. Some kind of herbal drink?”

“And?”

“It…cures things?”

Jaheira let out an annoyed huff and proceeded to repeat the properties of the harlthorn useful in preventing infection in wounds. If they were lucky, they could also find dathlil flowers nearby, small white flowers with petals that can be turned into antivenom to combat minor poison. Elene tried hard to commit all the knowledge to memory, but the druid’s teaching style was more rapid-fire than the methodical instructions she used to receive from the tutors in Candlekeep.

When she’d made the ‘modification’ to Jaheira’s salve, she didn’t expect much interest from the druid, much less the sincere offer of a full-blown lesson in herblore. The druid took to teaching the same way she did everything in life: forcefully. Elene began to wonder about the unintended consequences of her actions, if it was worth the days of snippy lectures and early mornings to hunt for ingredients.

And yet, these bruising lessons from Jaheira took her mind off the more disturbing elements of her life. The dreams she’d thought had faded with age were back in full force since they started hunting Tazok and had grown steadily worse since the bandit camp. This taunting voice kept hissing to her in the night, simultaneously foreign and yet as much a part of her as her own hand.

_“Such pride undeserved, great predator, when your whole being is borrowed. You were made as you are, and you can also be broken.”_

Unconsciously, she began rubbing circles over her heart. The pain she’d felt when the phantom dagger struck her likeness in the dream was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, like her whole being was being rent asunder. It reminded her so much of the distressing vision she saw years ago in Candlekeep. What did any of it mean? The years may have given her new mentors and more knowledge, but still she was unable to find the person who could shed light on what was happening to her.

“Are you listening?” Jaheira asked, her tone sharp.

“Dathlil petals must be boiled before I can turn it into paste, yes. I heard that,” Elene responded quickly.

Years ago, Gorion had gotten her to build a simple astrolabe from scratch. Now, she supposed she could help restock Jaheira’s depleting stores of salves and poultices. Of late, the hours she’d devoted into trying to learn this new skill tired her out. It helped her get more rest, if in a roundabout way.

Jaheira halted them at a large patch of thorned shrubs with leaves the shape of arrowheads. Not wasting time, the two women set out with their clippers to collect both leaves and thorns. Elene wiped sweat from her brow after a few minutes’ quiet work. The days were usually warm in high summer of Eleasis, but unlike the Wood of Sharp Teeth, the dense foliage of the Cloakwoods seemed to magnify the heat in uncomfortable ways.

The trees in the Cloakwoods were tall and ancient and grew very close to one another. Where there was a traversable path, they were covered in shrubs or undergrowth with thorns or prickly leaves. On top of that were the animals, mainly wolves. They had run into some spear-wielding tasloi, small hairless humanoids which also called this part of the wilds home.

It almost felt as though the Cloakwoods were designed to keep people out. And yet, observing Jaheira, the druid looked almost at home in their current surroundings.

“Are those dathlil?” Elene asked, pointing to a patch of ground flowers nearby.

Jaheira peered at them. “No, the petals are too big. Close, though.” She then glanced at her ward. “You seem to be in a pensive mood. Are you alright?”

“Doing better today,” the elf gave her a faint smile. “Maybe this spate of nightmares will peter out with time, like it did years ago. Doing all this focuses my energy in the meantime, keeps my mind off it at least.”

“That’s good,” the druid remarked, pleased. “Alright, I think we have enough for this morning.”

Elene secured the last thorn and sealed her pouch. They returned to camp in silence. When they were close enough, they caught a waft of porridge in the air, signifying that breakfast was ready. Sure enough, the rest were already digging into their breakfast when they arrived.

“Heya, saved some for you,” Imoen waved at them.

“Thanks, Im,” Elene smiled as her friend handed her a bowl.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Xan asked.

“Some of it, yes. We didn’t want to wander off too far,” she answered before tucking in.

Xan made a non-committal sound. “Either way, we’re all liable to get eaten the longer we spend in these woods.”

Elene chuckled. For an elf, he certainly wasn’t the nature-loving type.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Imoen asked.

“We will be heading north until highsun, then start westwards. The terrain will slope as we go along, so be prepared for that,” Kivan replied as he cast his eyes above. “And I found a deer carcass not far from here. Expect more wolves.”

“Wolves will be the least of our concerns as we head further in,” muttered Jaheira.

They did not tarry long after their meal was done. By the time the sun crested the horizon proper, the party had already begun their journey for the day, with Jaheira and Kivan in the lead. Khalid and Imoen followed closely after with the other two elves bringing up the rear. While woodcraft was not their strong point by any means, they made up for it with sharp hearing to detect threats closing from behind.

“Another slow day, from the look of it. Might as well we carry on with your spellwork, hmm?” Xan commented, looking for a distraction from the heat. “You mentioned the other day you’d like to try your hand at charm spells.”

Elene nodded. “I saw you use it at the bandit camp. The men were fighting one another instead of us.”

“Ah, that one,” acknowledged the enchanter. “Mind you, I was only able to affect them because they were weak-minded beings to begin with. It would be harder to take control of a stronger foe. Could just as likely backfire on you as it would benefit you.”

She shrugged. “I’ve never tried enchantment spells, my studies centred on abjuration and illusion.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask…why those two in particular?”

“Well, illusion spells are only limited by your imagination. There were so many things I could do with them. As for abjuration, Gorion wanted me to be able to protect myself. I didn’t understand why at the time, but…” she clenched her jaw as a pang of regret hit her, “I suppose we know why now.”

Xan cleared his throat. “I see. Since you’re well-versed in illusion, enchantment shouldn’t be too much of a step up.”

“You think so?” she glanced at him curiously.

“Enchantment usually requires three things. A target susceptible to charm, formidable will and strong charisma. Most humanoids can be brought under charm. I had my doubts, but after seeing you at the camp, I think you have the will for it. As for charisma, I suppose you could leverage on what you already have.”

“What do you mean?”

He shot her an incredulous look, as if annoyed at the question. “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror surely. Beauty is its own charm. One of the most powerful tools for an enchanter is their appearance. When the audience is enraptured enough by how you look, it makes them more susceptible to your spell.”

“Oh.”

Elene walked on for a bit, feeling mildly discombobulated. For a while, the only sound they could hear was that of their own footsteps and surrounding insects. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Xan had schooled his face into a mask of utter neutrality as he realised what he’d said. But she caught the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple.

_Did he just compliment me?_

She didn’t know what to think of that, so she chose to focus on something else. “Er. How does one leverage on all that? Make eye contact and focus down one target?”

“That increases likelihood of success, yes.” He seemed relieved that she chose to gloss over what he said, reverting to teaching mode with gusto. “In a casual setting, you could implant a suggestion unnoticed if you keep the casting gestures subtle. It takes a bit of practice but it’s doable. Such minor charms will not work in the heat of battle, however. On top of the spell casting, you will need to truly focus on your target and bend their will to yours. It requires a certain level of mental focus.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how long did it take you to learn all this?”

A wistful expression flickered through his face so quickly she almost missed it. “A decade, a decade and a half maybe. From basics to specialisation. Mages are taught in an academy in Evereska, we weren’t allowed to practice the spells outside of it until we were competent enough not to hurt others and ourselves. You’ve had good grounding in magic education in general, but real speciality takes time and effort.”

She hesitated before asking, “What made you choose enchantment as a specialty?”

“I was told I had the face for it, for one.” A wry smile curved his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. She wondered if she’d ever seen any of his smiles reach his eyes. “But deep down, I’ve always wanted to understand the deeper workings of the mind. What shapes behaviour. What drives each of us to do what we do. Conjurers create, evokers destroy, enchanters ultimately strike at the very thing that makes you who you are.”

Xan wouldn’t feel out of place in Candlekeep, she decided. She would have loved to see him debate with the stuffy mages who frequented the library, men who could recite texts from memory but had no idea how to change the world with what they knew.

“You’re the right person to learn from then,” she smiled at him. “So, what do you think would work best for a beginner?”

His features turned thoughtful. “There is a spell I can suggest, if you wish to try it.”

Any awkwardness between them faded away as the morning wore on, with Xan’s calm voice going through the mechanics of the spell he had in mind, punctuated by questions from Elene. It was a situational spell, she thought, suitable when facing bunched up enemies. Cast at the right time to control the right enemy, it could sow chaos among their ranks. The good thing was that it required no components, she thought, making it an excellent addition to her growing repertoire of utility spells.

Once the teaching part was over, she moved on to ask on other things, like the moonblade and if it played any part in his magic. He in turn wondered about the types of texts kept in Candlekeep, whether it contained works from fabled elven scholars. Elene felt that she could almost forget that they were in the middle of a dangerous mission and imagine that they were just two friends having a pleasant academic conversation.

Of course, that was when reality decided to rear its ugly head.

A sharp whistle from the front brought them both to an immediate halt. Elene drew her sword as Xan drew on his magic for protection. They moved up quickly to regroup with the rest, already hearing the growl of wolves even from many yards away.

“How many?” Elene called out to Kivan as she caught up.

“At least five,” was his grim reply.

“So many,” she whispered, bringing her blade up as the beasts closed.

Six fur-covered creatures burst out from the thickets before them, but all Elene could focus on were their teeth. They were exceptionally large for wolves, with canines almost the length of her throwing knives. Oddly enough, their fur was patchy and matted, and they reeked of carrion left to rot in the hot summer days.

“Abominations!” Jaheira yelled, striking one of them in the skull with her staff.

Elene had no time to wonder at the druid’s curse as two of the wolves zeroed in on her. Fortunately, an arrow from Imoen struck one on its side, eliciting a pained howl from the creature. The other lunged for Elene, aiming for her leg. She dodged it neatly, striking down with her sword as she did. It struck the beast square on its neck, causing it to careen away, mortally wounded.

The second beast was slowed down by its wound, thus easier to deal with. To her horror, after she’d put down the creature, the first beast was still limping towards her trying to attack even though its head was leaning to one side at a grotesque angle. An arrow pierced its eye before it could close in, putting paid to the last wolf in the pack.

“What in the…these aren’t normal wolves!” exclaimed Imoen.

“No,” Jaheira replied quietly, wiping her staff on the ground. “These are dread wolves.”

“Necromancy? Here?” Xan frowned.

Swallowing, Elene glanced at the carcasses. Now that she had a good look at them, they did look like zombie wolves, their ferociousness and speed not in line with their skeletal frames and rotten appearance.

“Might not be the case. There may be another force at play here.”

“Like what?” Elene wanted to know.

Jaheira shook her head, already moving away from the scene. “Just a suspicion for now. Let us move quickly. And stay close. These wolves were sent out to look for something. And we certainly do not want to be found.”

With that ominous thought, they followed the druid in silence. They broke through the thickets the wolves came from with caution. Although the threat had passed, Elene couldn’t help but feel a prickle of discomfort as they passed by a huge old oak tree ringed by yellow ground flowers. She had a distinct feeling they were being watched.

“My, my, what do we have here?”

As one, the party drew their weapons and whipped their gazes to search the branches of the oak tree. Instead of a raiding party or a terrifying foe, a lone man sat high up on the tree’s bough, almost hidden in the leaves. Elene raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight trickling through the leaves, squinting up at him. Was he grinning at them?

“I’d expected a band of mighty marauders to walk over after dealing with those wolves. Not a trio of flowers and their loyal beetles,” the man chuckled. “Perhaps this is my lucky day, after all.”

Kivan already had an arrow trained on him. “Who are you?”

“Come now, let us introduce ourselves as friends,” he replied, his arms spread wide. “My name is Coran, a citizen of Baldur’s Gate. I would happily come down to shake your hand, kinsman, if you promise not to shoot me.”

Kivan lowered his bow with a glare but kept the arrow ready to draw. Heartened, Coran proceeded to climb down from the bough, demonstrating remarkable agility in doing so. He dropped to the ground with a triumphant ‘Hah!’ next to the ranger, still with an amused grin on his face.

For an elf, he was not as fine-boned as Xan or Kivan, his face in particular looking somewhat rounded for one of their kind. Multiple gold earrings lined his pointed ears and small accents and trinkets tastefully decorated his otherwise plain leather armour. His chestnut-coloured hair, bright hazel eyes and bronzed skin marked him as a wood elf like Kivan. He looked ready to offer his kin a handshake but changed his mind when he saw Kivan’s stone-faced expression.

“Thank you muchly for not turning me into a pincushion. You lot seem to be a good sort. May I have the pleasure of your names?” he tilted his head as he considered them in turn.

“First,” Jaheira stepped forward, “You will tell us what you’re doing here. It’s a long way from Baldur’s Gate, ‘friend’.”

“Why, the same reason anyone ventures into these woods. For adventure, of course!”

Imoen stifled a giggle as Jaheira’s glare intensified.

“Or, well,” Coran backtracked. “That’s how it started, at least. The past few days have put paid to that idea somewhat. My fellows and I were escorting a group from the Merchant League on a hunting trip. We were supposed to be hunting wyverns. The creatures had begun terrorising farmlands outside Cloakwoods, you see. There was a bounty put up for their demise by the honourable Kelddath Ormlyr and we Baldurians just couldn’t resist the opportunity.”

“I doubt you were looking for wyverns up on that tree,” Xan observed drily.

“Sharp man.” Coran tipped his imaginary hat at the mage. “I was running from those undead wolves you’ve thoughtfully gotten rid of. My thanks again for saving my neck, I don’t think my rations would have lasted beyond two days,” he chuckled nervously. “We had a run-in with the local druids a few days ago. They have not taken kindly to our presence here and decided to do a little housekeeping, so to speak.”

“Druids sent those creatures after you?” Jaheira’s eyes widened.

“Particularly _angry_ druids, yes. They didn’t think we had any right defiling nature with our continued breathing, simply because we’re from the city.” He sighed. “I was lucky. Some of my fellows weren’t. I need to get back to our employer and make sure he’s alright. Knowing him, he’s probably holed up in that fortified log cabin of his.”

Then, his shrewd eyes studied the group. “Say, I could use a bit of help. I am but one man facing against the combined wrath of nature. What say you help a fellow out? I’m sure Aldeth will reward you handsomely for your efforts.”

“We’re not mercenaries,” Kivan bit out.

Jaheira laid a hand on his shoulder. “Be that as it may, I am interested to find out more about these ‘druids’.”

“If Aldeth is still alive, they would come after him. Like I said, they were an angry bunch.”

“Then we will go with you to meet this Aldeth,” the druid replied. “I am Jaheira.”

Taking her cue, the rest of the party gave their names as introduction. Elene went last, feeling exposed without her hood up and wondering if her bounty had made its way to the Gate. She hoped not. Coran watched her with interest, eyes twinkling.

“Ah, a flower by any other name. Pleased to meet all of you. With such a band coming to my aid, the day can only be looking up,” he bowed with a flourish.


	21. The weak who survive

Aldeth turned out to be the scion of the Sashenstar family, inheritor of a tremendous trove of wealth and the current head of the Merchant League in Baldur’s Gate. Dark haired with patrician features, it was obvious that he was born into nobility. Yet his title and riches would do him little good as he sat there holed up in a large cabin in the Cloakwoods. He looked hunted and bedraggled as he sat in a plush chair, shooting plaintive looks towards his guests.

Jaheira was not impressed. She looked around at the others in the room, her group, Coran and three men from Aldeth’s cadre.

“I’m not sure what sort of welcome you _were_ expecting, tromping into the woods the way you did,” she harrumphed.

“Well how was I supposed to know these woods are now occupied by savages?” he bemoaned. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coran make hand gestures as if trying to forestall his employer. Aldeth glanced at him in confusion, but didn’t seem to get the message, for he went on, “All we wanted was to rid this land of a terrible beast. From how they’ve been acting, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones inciting the creature to attack the farmlands!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Coran interjected, “But I think it is safe to say that we won’t be getting out of here without some help, Aldeth. Jaheira here is a druid herself, she and her group could be that help perhaps.”

Coran ducked his head, sending him a meaningful look.

And then it clicked for the noble. ”Ah, a druid. I…hadn’t realised.”

“Obviously,” Jaheira commented, deadpan.

“Why didn’t you get out of the woods as soon as you could?” Xan asked.

“We tried,” Aldeth groaned. “But then our horses spooked and the route we came in from was blocked by vines. So we had to retreat here. The druids said they wanted us gone but now it’s like they _want_ us to be trapped here. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jaheira glanced at Khalid in concern. “How many of you are here?”

“About a dozen. The rest got torn apart by wild animals on our flight here. Poor chaps.”

“Not sure what made them think they could face wyverns with this bunch,” Imoen whispered to Elene in the back.

_What was the old saying? A fool and his head are quickly parted._

Gritting her teeth, Jaheira took stock of the situation. Twelve armed men plus her group should be enough to deal with any Shadow Druids sent to deal with them. And in her mind, their foe could only be Shadow Druids. It was a classic tactic of theirs, boxing in prey in their strongholds, then they will proceed to either strike in force or poison their food stores and drink for a slow death. She had no doubt that they did not intend to let Aldeth and his men walk away.

“Where are your food and water stores?” she asked.

“Food is all in here, we keep some meat and herbs in reserve. Water we draw from the well just around the corner,” Coran gestured vaguely behind him.

“Store water inside for the time being,” she told him. “I will check what you have for poison.”

“Poison?” Aldeth stammered, his voice going up a few octaves.

Coran’s face turned serious for the first time since they’d met him. “I didn’t realise they would stoop to that. Heron,” he called to one man standing by the fireplace, “Bring the gourd, let us show the good lady here the well. The rest of you stay with Aldeth.”

“Xan, you may want to stay here with them,” Jaheira told the enchanter as she moved past.

“If I must,” muttered the elf.

“I’ll stay here, too,” Imoen volunteered, eyeing the decoration in the place.

“Behave, Im,” Elene nudged her.

They stepped out of the cabin, Jaheira, Khalid, Elene, Kivan, Coran and Heron with a large gourd. Highsun had come and gone by then, the sun already heading east. Ideally, Aldeth’s group should make their way out of the woods before nightfall, but they needed to clear the path first. Otherwise, the journey back to the Lion’s Way would be spent in fear of creatures in pursuit every step of the way.

The well was indeed around the corner, a wooden platform with a winch and hand crank attached, a bucket lowered halfway to the water at the bottom. It wasn’t a deep well, the water still and clear. In fact, Jaheira wagered there would be enough supply for a hunting party much larger than the one present.

“This cabin is frequently in use, I take it?” Khalid asked before she could.

Heron nodded as he put down the gourd with a grunt. “Master Aldeth would come here every year to hunt with his fellows. They would have a banquet with meat from the hunt and talk business as they eat.”

Jaheira’s lips curled into a sneer. “Must be the highlight of the party calendar at the Gate.”

“Er, well.” Heron rubbed the back of his neck. “Not going to be so this year, methinks.”

“Draw the water,” she told the man. “Kivan, Elene, check the perimeter. Watch above and below.”

Wordlessly, the two elves waded into the surrounding trees and disappeared into the shadows. The druid frowned as she watched Coran’s eyes linger on her charge longer than they should. They have only known the elf for a brief period but Jaheira felt she had a good idea what sort of person they were dealing with.

_A lothario from the city. Just what they don’t need in a party with two young, impressionable women._

Clean water sloshed onto the ground as Herron deposited a filled bucket in front of her. She crouched in front of it, taking a sample to smell and taste. Finally, she whispered a brief incantation to ensure the purity of the water. Everything looked clear. It seemed their foes hadn’t yet thought to tamper with their resources yet.

“It’s clean,” she declared. “Store what you can indoors until tomorrow.”

“Aye, maam.”

“What about the way back to the city?” Coran asked as Herron got to work. “Can you show us the safest route out?”

“What happened to your wyvern hunt?” Jaheira raised an eyebrow.

“I think we can agree that Aldeth has lost his appetite for the hunt,” he replied with a wry smile. “Let us focus on getting him back to the Gate in one piece perhaps.”

“Let me guess. If he dies, you don’t get paid anything,” remarked Khalid.

Coran’s smile widened. “Technically I’ve received my advance, but there is something of a clawback provision if he doesn’t make it back in one piece.”

Jaheira resisted rolling her eyes. “We wait for the others to return. If your enemies are already gearing up for an attack here, we may as well face them head on. Unless you’d rather have them at your back the entire journey out.”

“Ah, point taken.”

They did not have to wait long. Kivan and Elene returned soon enough, grim-faced.

“We saw large spiders in the trees,” Elene announced. “Not hostile yet, but they seem to be waiting. There’s no humanoid tracks, though there are traces of wolves around.”

“Druids can shapeshift into animals,” Khalid cautioned her.

“Right. In that case, we could be facing a large group,” she replied, glancing up at the trees nervously.

“We can force their hand if we’re in position,” suggested Kivan.

Jaheira nodded. “Then we’d best get ready.”

The next hour was spent preparing everyone present for a tough fight. They were at a serious disadvantage, with the terrain and wildlife in favour of the local druids. Fortunately, they had a few tricks up their sleeves as Jaheira and Kivan could turn animals against them while Xan and Elene wielded magic, which they would not have expected. Yet deep down, Jaheira hoped that it would not come down to that. If the Iron Throne had a base of operations in these woods, the druids would know about it. She would much prefer to appeal to them as allies than face off against them.

Where that leaves Aldeth and his crew…well, they would have to see.

“So, we have the bowmen set up, traps are almost ready, now what?” Coran asked as he counted the arrows in his quiver.

“We wait,” Jaheira replied.

“What makes you so sure they will come?”

“Your continued presence is an affront to them,” she scoffed. “The more boldness you show, the more they will come.”

Coran smirked. “Reminds me of a lovely lady I knew once.”

This time Jaheira did roll her eyes. Silvanus save them all from lecherous mercenaries.

“Do spare us the tale,” Xan sighed in agreement.

Their combined disdain seemed to amuse Coran even more. He turned to Elene with a light chuckle. “Ah, flower, what dour companions you travel with. Have you ever considered adventuring with someone a touch more debonair?”

Elene glanced at Jaheira, surprised at the sudden attention. “Not really.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he winked.

Xan shot him a contemptuous look, putting the full weight of his disgust in a single stare. “If you’re referring to yourself, I doubt she’s missing out on anything at all.”

“I’ll go see if Imoen needs help with the traps,” Elene excused herself, looking spooked.

Jaheira levelled a withering gaze at Coran to forestall any ideas of him joining her. Still smiling, he just shrugged as he repaired the fletching on a few of his arrows. She hoped he was as good with his bow as he was at running his mouth.

Despite their concern, several more hours passed by without incident. The spiders Kivan spotted kept their distance and no more wolves showed up. Hiding indoors put them all at risk of perishing from a well-placed fire spell. As such, everyone was lounged outside the cabin in the sweltering heat, even Aldeth, as they awaited confrontation.

It was close to sunset when the shadows in the trees began to shift.

“Be ready,” Kivan grunted as he moved into position for a fight.

The rest of them stood with their weapons drawn. Sure enough, the eerie chittering of spiders began to trickle in from the trees as large bulbous forms descended from the boughs. Spiders the size of lambs advanced with grotesquely long limbs and mandibles dripping venom. There were about ten of them, likely meant to swarm and wear them down before the real attack.

“Ugh, I hate spiders,” Imoen groaned. “Why can’t it be puppies? Toothless puppies?”

Jaheira had just enough time to hear Elene chuckle before the first spider launched itself at her. If it was up to her, she would have preferred to cast entangling vines to settle the fight with ease, but she didn’t want to show her hand too soon. Instead, her staff came up smartly and batted the creature towards Khalid. They worked as a team, preventing the creatures from advancing closer to the cabin where Aldeth was.

“Watch out for their fangs,” Khalid called out to Elene.

“Got it,” she replied, sinking her blade into the spine of a spider.

The first wave was put down at speed, with minimal injuries. One of Aldeth’s men was bleeding from a poisoned wound. Before anything could be done to help him, howls erupted from the trees, heralding the next set of opponents.

Dread wolves bounded into the clearing. Their eyes glowed in the deepening gloom, teeth bared as they closed in. Some of the men cried out at the sight of creatures that killed their friends. The wolves were more dangerous than the spiders by far, moving with unnatural speed and fierceness as if possessed. Jaheira searched the trees even as she kept an eye on the wolf circling her. Whoever was directing these creatures, they were close.

Without warning, vines sprouted from beneath Khalid’s feet, tangling around them and threatening to bring him to the ground. He yelled in surprise, somehow managing to stay on his feet but held in place. Not far away, Elene was also caught in the radius of entanglement as she was fending off a beast. She evaded a few of the vines, but one caught her in the ankle, causing her to trip. Fortunately, an arrow sailed in, piercing the wolf menacing her in the eye, swiftly ending its unnatural life.

Jaheira had had enough. Here, in the wilds, she was in her element. She raised her hands high, calling upon her patron Silvanus and the raw power of storms as she chanted a string of command words. A few wolves switched targets and began to target her but Kivan’s arrow and a fist of earth from Xan came to her aid. That bought her enough time to complete her spell and harness bolts of lightning from the sky to eviscerate the remaining wolves. The clearing smelled of ozone and burnt fur once she was done.

Breathing hard, she took quick stock of the battlefield. The wolves had made quick work of a few of Aldeth’s men. They lay on the ground with their throats torn out by the vicious beasts. But her own group was unscathed, except for Elene who was being cut out of the entangling vines by Coran.

“Enough!”

The vines stopped writhing and trying to grab at them, curling up to lay dormant at their feet. Jaheira turned to face the edge of the trees. Five men approached, dressed in fur and hide, armed with staves and sickles. To her shock, she recognised the man in the lead.

“Seniyad?” she asked in disbelief.

Her former mentor canted his head, his thick hair now white with age. But his eyes haven’t lost any of their edge. “Jaheira. I see Khalid is here as well. Not the faces I was expecting, defending these trespassers.”

Khalid acknowledged him with a wary nod but looked to his wife.

“Why are you attacking those who seek to leave the woods in peace after your warning?” she demanded. “That has never been our way. Or has that changed since we last spoke?”

“Many things have changed since we last spoke,” he replied, his tone icy.

Jaheira paused, observing his rigid shoulders. “What has happened here, Seniyad?”

“It began with a single caravan, headed northeast. Harmless enough at first.” Then his face twisted with anger. “Before we knew it, more came. Unearthed things which should have remained buried. They killed those of us who tried to warn them. Now they have taken root as deep as any oak, poisoning the very earth here with their filth.” He pointed to Aldeth. “And still _more_ come. I am archdruid here and I say enough is enough!”

“What is he talking about?” Aldeth shouted. “I have nothing to do with caravans going into the woods!”

“Keep quiet!” Jaheira hissed at him. “I can assure you, these men here are only here on a foolish hunt. Now they want nothing more than to leave these woods and never return. Am I right in my understanding, Aldeth?”

“Ah, er. Yes, quite right, my lady.”

“Good man,” muttered Xan under his breath.

“Let these men go, sir, they will bring no further harm to your woods,” appealed Elene.

Seniyad seemed to evaluate them for a long moment before he spoke. “And what of the beasts they slew for sport?”

“I think you’ve extracted your blood price from their number already,” Jaheira gestured to the fallen.

“An eye for an eye,” he replied. “If they will not pay the full price in blood, I bid they pay in service.”

“What do you have in mind?” Coran asked.

“You are well-versed in the ways of the folk who have taken residence in the northeast.” Seniyad pointed at him. “To pay for your transgressions, you will clear them out of our woods. By whatever means necessary.”

Coran frowned. “Who are these men?”

“It matters not to me. I want them _gone_ ,” Seniyad struck his staff on the ground for emphasis.

Jaheira stepped in. “We agree to your terms. I pledge my word that we will see it done. Now, will you clear the way for Aldeth and his men to take their leave? And you must give your word that they will go on their journey unmolested.”

Seniyad’s eyes seemed far away for a moment before he refocused on Jaheira and nodded. “It is done. They will leave now or not at all.”

“I’d hop to it if I were you,” Imoen nudged Aldeth.

“Yes, yes. Come along, men,” the noble drew himself up. “Take only what you can carry with you. We leave immediately.”

“If I may, Aldeth,” Coran piped up. “I’d like to stay with these good fellows. Help them pay in service if you will.”

“You wish to stay in this godsforsaken wilderness?” Aldeth gaped at him.

“Only until the deed is done, then I will see you in the city with tales to surpass Gorpel Hind and his merry band,” Coran flashed what seemed to be his winning smile. “After all, life is adventure or nothing.”

“Well, on your head be it then,” he replied. “You’ll only get the other half of your pay if you’re alive.”

“Fair enough,” shrugged the elf.

Jaheira glared at him as Aldeth and his men prepared to set out. “What makes you think we want you with us?”

“Now, now. Many hands make light work. Also, I think you’re going to run into that wyvern one way or another. You’ll definitely appreciate a second archer then,” he winked.

“Or bait. We might need that as well,” commented Xan blandly.

“Bait would be useful,” Kivan agreed, his tone just as bland.

“Yer all so mean,” chuckled Imoen as Coran looked at them in faux hurt.

“You are after the wyvern, hmm?” Seniyad interjected, his expression turning shrewd. “That is another matter I wish to speak with you about, Jaheira. Those men in the mines have wronged the balance in more ways than one.”

Jaheira nodded, then paused when Aldeth approached her. The man clasped her hand with both his hands, pure relief on his features. “I give you my gratitude for the aid you have given us. If you ever travel to Baldur’s Gate, come to the Merchants’ League estate and I will aid you in any way I can.” He pressed a clinking pouch into her hand. “Take now this small token of my appreciation.”

And with that, he was off, not even sparing a glance at Seniyad and his group.

Jaheira turned the pouch in her hand contemplatively before pocketing it. Gold was good, but she was more interested in his offer for aid. The Merchant League, he said. Such an alliance would certainly prove useful in the future if they ever had business at the Gate.

Khalid approached Seniyad. “Will you tell us about the men in the northeast?”

“With pleasure. Keran, clear up the bodies here, we don’t want carrion eaters to congregate,” the old druid instructed one of his cadre before turning on his heel. “Come, let me tell you as we walk. It is a long journey to the heart of the forest, as I’m sure you both remember.”

“Of course,” Jaheira sighed. “I hope you’ve cleared out most of the ettercaps.”

“If only!” Seniyad let out a bark of laughter.

He led them on a winding route through the trees, many of which looked as old as time itself, cross a bridge that spanned a deep river. The Cloakwoods was older than the other wooded regions of the Western Heartlands and was completely uninhabited safe for a druid circle for more than a century. Creatures in the woods gave way as they passed, likely acknowledging the archdruid, something Jaheira had always envied. To gain such respect from nature’s creatures was an achievement on its own, she felt.

“These men began coming in about a year ago,” Seniyad explained. “At first it was harmless, supposed excavation work on behalf of the dwarven descendants of the old mine owners. To see if anything could be salvaged, or so we were told. One caravan became two, then three, then before you realise it, there was a hive of activity at the mines as they drained the river out of the abandoned tunnels. Somehow, they managed to get everything running again within a month after that.”

“That’s when the trouble started. They started clearing trees to widen roads, so that more caravans could come in. And they did. I spied one of them as they passed on of our watchposts, and it had people in them, all shackled up in rope and chains. These were the people set to work on the mines.”

“They’re using slaves?” Xan asked, outrage clear in his voice.

“That appears to be the case,” Seniyad nodded. “Within a week of full operation, they were already dumping waste into the rivers. The iron ore needed to be cleaned as well, so we found traces of the filth in the waters further down river. Poisoned the fish. I sent Izefia to talk to these people, tell them to clean up their act.” His expression grew stormy. “They sent back his head a few days later.”

“That’s terrible,” Imoen covered her mouth.

“It didn’t end there, I’m afraid. Since they harass us on sight, we were forced to draw back to the grove for the most part. And because we were unable to watch over the eastern portion, they did something heinous.” Seniyad shook his head bitterly. “They took the hatchlings from the wyvern nest there. Drove the mother mad with grief. That is why she attacks the lands beyond the Cloakwoods, she seeks vengeance for her lost brood.”

“An affront to nature,” cursed Jaheira.

“Why _did_ they take the hatchlings, though?” Coran wanted to know.

“To train them,” replied the other druid. “If raised from young to follow commands, wyverns are smart enough to obey their masters over time.”

“That does explain a fair bit,” Coran nodded thoughtfully.

“Unnatural,” Kivan muttered in disgust.

“These men…are they working for the Iron Throne? Do you know?” Elene asked after a pause.

“We have heard that name bandied about in the wind. That may be their employers, yes. Regardless, I have tolerated their ilk long enough. I have already conceded to the more militant of our circle.” Seniyad sighed. A tired, weighty sound. “If you hadn’t come along, we were wont to do something drastic to remove them once and for all.”

Jaheira grasped his arm. “Do not give in to hasty judgment, Seniyad. If it is true they use slaves, you would bring the wrath of nature upon the head of innocents as well. Something must be done to help those people first.”

“When the woods you protect are encroached upon day after day, the beauty of it ruined by these beasts who walk on two feet, it becomes difficult to put a value to life, Jaheira. The circle is hurting. Something had to be done.”

She frowned at him. “Like accepting Shadow Druid doctrine? Do the ends justify the means now, Seniyad?”

The old man turned away, unable to meet her gaze.

Incensed, she reared herself to give him a piece of her mind but Khalid’s hand on her shoulder gave her pause. Her husband shook his head, as if to say this was not the time to fight this battle. She gritted her teeth but relented.

He was right. If the installation was as big as Seniyad claimed, they would need all the help they could get.


	22. The fly in the ointment

“…And there it was, the prize, just sitting there in plain view, waiting to be unlocked. But as I was about to pick the lock, I heard the front door open. The wizard was home, _hours_ before he was supposed to be.”

A gasp. “Then what happened?”

“Ah, I had to improvise, of course. So, this was what I did…”

Coran leaned forward with the eagerness of an avid storyteller with Imoen as his rapt audience, both seated on the ground at the edge of a vast, ancient grove. Kivan and Elene were nearby, with the former completely ignoring everyone as he maintained his bowstring to keep the weapon in prime condition. The latter was ostensibly sharpening her sword, but Xan noticed she kept flicking curious glances at Coran.

Xan took a deep breath, doing his best to focus on the trees ahead rather than the scene before him. Seldom did he question Jaheira’s judgment since they began travelling together, but he was questioning it now.

Oh, no doubt the delinquent elf was capable. He was almost as good as Kivan with a bow and quicker on his feet besides. Yet he wondered at his motivations, why he was so ready to let his employer leave without him, all in the name of a mad wyvern hunt. Granted, a 2,000-gold reward was nothing to turn one’s nose up at, but was it all down to the coin?

At this point, Coran did not seem to know anything about the Iron Throne, but he suspected the man was a good actor. They would have to be wary with him. For all they knew, the foolish devil-may-care façade may just be for show.

They had been travelling together for more than a day with Seniyad, the path to the heart of Cloakwood winding and dangerous. Even with an archdruid leading the way, they encountered vicious spiders and ettercaps keen to make meals out of any foolish enough to pass through their domain. Occasionally, they heard the terrifying cry of a wyvern as it flew overhead. It had been a harrowing journey made safe thanks to the presence of two druids, a ranger, and a few rogues with sharp eyes for traps.

So there they were, at the edge of the grove where the druid circle make their home. An enormous tree loomed not far away, its branches large enough to have small sheds nestled on the boughs. Instead of approaching the tree, Jaheira bade the group settle themselves close to a set of standing stones while she and Khalid accompany Seniyad to meet with the circle. That had been an hour ago. The sun was creeping further east, it would turn dark soon.

As he finished his improbable tale, Coran caught Elene looking and grinned at her. Elene returned it with a hesitant half-smile.

Xan gritted his teeth.

Fortunately, he was spared further annoyance when his ears caught metal-tipped footsteps heading their way, heralding the return of their half-elven duo. He tucked the spellbook in his hands into his overcoat as he stood. Kivan looked up from his work as well, then began wiping his hands and putting away his things. Jaheira’s expression was stormy when she came into view while Khalid looked consternated. Seniyad was nowhere in sight.

“We are allowed to stay near the grove, but not in their abode,” Jaheira announced. “This circle is no longer welcoming to travellers, it is all Seniyad could do to keep the others from throwing us out on our backs.”

“Is Seniyad no longer the leader here?” Xan quirked an eyebrow.

“He is, but…” she looked to the sky as she organised her thoughts, “I think the balance of power is fragile now. There are others queueing up to succeed him at any misstep. Others who are far less benevolent. We’d best watch our step while we are here.”

“So, what do we do now?” Elene asked as she sheathed her sword.

Jaheira sighed. “The circle said they will commune before they decide what aid can be given for our task. We will find out in the morning. I have a feeling it will come with strings attached, even with Seniyad’s intervention.”

“What kind of strings?” Xan frowned.

“Likely something to do with that wyvern,” Khalid glanced at Coran.

“What are we supposed to do? Hunt it?” Imoen asked, incredulous.

“Tomorrow will tell,” Jaheira replied. “For now, let us get some rest.”

Kivan stood. “I’ll hunt us dinner.”

Elene looked like she was about to volunteer to help, but the ranger stalked off without another word. Xan watched as her shoulders slumped and she instead busied herself with unpacking for the night, just as the others were. He’d noticed the two haven’t really been on speaking terms since their conversation at the bandit camp. If anything, Kivan seemed to be avoiding her.

Xan approached her. “Give him time.”

“I don’t know why he’s pulling away.” She looked up at him, her eyes sad. “It’s almost as if I did something terrible.”

“Whatever it is, he needs to deal with it on his own.” He paused. “It is, as you say, an ‘elf’ thing.”

She smiled at him, but it was a weak attempt. The dark circles under her eyes had improved since their stay at the Friendly Arm Inn, but she was still a pale shadow of the girl he’d met in the mines. Gathering her sword, with a pouch in the other hand, she clambered to her feet.

“Well, I need to collect some reagents for something I’m working on. Won’t be long.”

He frowned at her. “You’re certainly not going alone.”

“Alright, come on then,” she tugged at his sleeve as she moved past him.

Sighing, he went with her even as he wondered when she learned to be assertive. She signalled to Khalid to let him know, then they were off into the thickets. This part of the forest was denser than the southern portion they came from. The very air felt different, untainted by men. It reminded him of the Forgotten Forest west of Evereska, especially with the ancient oaks granting thick foliage that gave cooling shade throughout the day. He’d missed the days of his youth when they would go into those forests to study the edges of the Plane of Shadow. Back then, the worst that could befall apprentices like him was having rations go stale after a few days.

Certainly there was no threat of being eaten by wyverns there.

They were silent as they made their way to a rocky outcrop they had passed on the way to the grove. Small plants grew at the tip of the outcrop, which Elene made a quick beeline for, her eyes warily scanning the treetops for spiders as she knelt to trim the plants. Xan stood to one side observing their surroundings. They’d been jumped enough times by spiders in the past day that they knew to be careful.

“What do you think of our progress so far?” she asked as she set about her task.

He glanced at her. “What progress? We’re rather stuck for the moment.”

“You know what I mean,” she chuckled.

“I think Jaheira has the right of it. Getting aid from the circle of these woods will improve our odds, especially since they know where the installation is. If they won’t help us, at least we get their agreement that they will not hinder us either.”

She hummed. “You don’t seem to agree about taking Coran along.”

“Noticed that, did you?” he gave her a humourless smile. “What do _you_ think our ‘friendly’ kin?”

“Hard to read him.” Her gaze alighted on him for a moment. “I’m worried the bounty notice has made it to the Gate, and if he’s already seen it. He seems to look my way a lot.”

Xan observed her, a lovely, guileless young woman with cheeks pinkened from the heat. He doubted that was the root of Coran’s interest. The man in question was simply a simpleminded lecher trying his luck with any female in the vicinity. But in an odd way, he was heartened by her paranoia. That is what will keep her alive, just like his kept him alive through the years as a Greycloak.

“Best to keep your distance. We don’t know his true intent,” he advised.

Elene nodded, arranging the herbs she trimmed onto a small cloth, then gently rolling up the cloth to keep in her satchel. Once she was done, she stored her clippers, then wiped her hands on her trousers. Instead of getting to her feet, though, she turned to face Xan and settled back on her haunches, a pensive cast to her features.

“I thought about what you said. After the bandit camp.”

“Oh?” Taking another look around and deeming it safe enough, he settled himself on a large rock, facing her. “And have you found the answers you sought?”

“In a way.” She gazed at her hands. “For the most part, I realise that I do what I do because I want to survive. Just like any living creature, it’s instinct. Most people, they survive by working hard, making sure they have food, a roof over their heads. For me, survival means being on the run. Survival means killing those who would seek my head. I don’t feel like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Unless you choose to lie down and accept death,” he commented.

“That would be the easier path,” she remarked wryly.

He studied her. “Is that all it is then? You kill to survive?”

“Doesn’t sound right when you say it like that, does it? But honestly, what other purpose do I have at this point? I almost feel like a lost puppy trailing after Jaheira on her intrigues. I am grateful that she took me in, but I don’t know if this Harper business is really my calling.”

She ventured a small smile in his direction, her bearing uncertain, seemingly uncomfortable that she had bared the core of her uncertainty to him. It had been a long time since he’d had such honest conversation with anyone. His fingers brushed against his moonblade as he thought of his own life, and all that has happened since.

“I understand,” he said.

“You do?” she raised her eyebrows at him.

“This may surprise you, but we were all young once,” he smirked, before his expression turned earnest. “Did I tell you how the moonblade came to me?”

She shook her head.

“After I graduated from the magic academy, I stayed on there as a tutor. Not really because I wanted to get into teaching, more because I wasn’t ready to join the ranks of those who defended Evereska. I got away with indecision for several years, minding my own affairs.” His lips thinned. “That is, until my father died unexpectedly.”

“If I may ask, what happened?” she asked.

“Mission gone wrong.” It felt odd to speak of his family after so long. At least the pain that comes with the memories have faded over time. “My father was a Greycloak before me, a moonblade wielder in his own right. Tradition dictated that the blade is to pass down to his next of kin, someone from our family. My cousin Erevain disappeared in Icewind Dale many years before that, and the rest of our kin were either too young or too old to be considered, so I was the only real option.”

He pulled the sheathed blade from his belt and laid it across his lap. “A harmless-looking thing. But to become its wielder, you must pass the bladerite. If you are of ill intent, or weak of character, you would be killed instantly by arcane fire.”

She stared at him for a moment before her gaze turned curious. “Were you afraid?”

“Terrified, in fact,” he huffed a laugh. “I still remember the day I drew the blade for the first time. Relieved as I was when I didn’t get purged in a gout of fire, I realised that in claiming the moonblade, a purpose was thrust upon me. To protect Evereska to my dying breath. But that it didn’t kill me meant that deep down, it had always been within me, the desire to protect my home. Perhaps the blade merely affirmed what had always been there.”

“But if you die, your soul will be trapped in the blade. To power its magic until its purpose is fulfilled.”

“Yes. Such is the price paid by all moonblade wielders.” He sighed. “It was not easy, but I’ve made my peace with it years ago. Death is simply something we must all face up to when the time comes. Failure frightens me more than death. What is my life compared to the safety of my homeland?”

She tilted her head. “You still believe in your purpose, after all these years?”

“There are days I struggle with it, especially after what happened in the Mines,” he answered slowly, eyeing the moonblade half-worried the sentient weapon would strike him down for his admission, “But thoughts of home often dispel that doubt. Evereska is not perfect but it is a beautiful spark in an otherwise ugly world. The jewel of elvenkind. Is that not worth fighting for? To preserve such a spark?”

Elene looked away. Her eyes took on a distant cast that he’d come to associate to her piecing thoughts together. It was a while before she spoke again.

“Your resolve is…admirable. But I admit, I can’t relate. I don’t really understand the appeal of fighting for a place and what it stood for. Perhaps we can embed our ideals in a place symbolically, but it’s the people that make the place what it is. If the people are gone, would it still be something to fight for?” She shook her head. “I would struggle to call Candlekeep home now that Gorion’s gone. _He_ made the place home.”

“To each their own, I suppose. I have no real family left in Evereska, but it remains home to me, because of what the kingdom stands for.” He tapped his moonblade. “Personally, I wouldn’t advocate binding your soul to a chunk of steel for half an eternity unless you’re sure.”

She chuckled, but the look she favoured him with was sympathetic. Almost as if she knew he had to live with the result of a life choice he’d made a century ago, when he didn’t know much better. Her point resonated with him. He wondered if he would be able to defend Evereska based on the value he placed on the people, with their various flaws and shortcomings. Believing in ideals had always been easier for him. Otherwise, how could he continue to carry out his duty in the face of the horrors he’d seen?

“You said then, one must have a clear reason to take a life,” she recalled. “Would you only do so if it serves Evereska? Does protecting Evereska mean dispensing death to those who do not directly threaten the kingdom? Where do you draw the line?”

“I do not relish my task at times but I will do what I must.” He paused. “Of course, I would avoid violence unless as a last resort. Hence my preference for magics of the mind. Some stains you can never wash off your conscience. And you would do well to remember that.”

“I hear you.” She sighed. “I keep fighting because that’s what Gorion would have wanted me to do. He died so I could live. And I can’t let his death be in vain. So I fight, and I fight hard.”

She tweaked the grass near her distractedly as she considered her next words.

“As for what I’d do with that life…I don’t think I’d fight for something specific, like a cause or a haven to defend. I suppose I’d be content doing what we’re doing now. Solving problems and helping people. Balance out the scales against the wickedness in the world where I can. It doesn’t wash the blood off my hands but I’m learning to live with it. Knowing that I’m helping to balance the scales. But on my own terms.” She looked up at him. “Does that make sense?”

He smiled slightly. “Sounds like you could be a budding Harper.”

“Don’t let Jaheira hear you say that,” she smirked back at him. Then she glanced skyward. “We should probably head back.”

Xan nodded and got to his feet, holstering his blade back to his belt. To his bemusement, she ghosted a touch on his shoulder as she moved past him.

“Thank you for sharing, Xan.”

“I…” he ducked his head. “I hope that it helped you.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “It did.”

Taking a deep breath, he followed, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of being off balance. He was being a mentor to her, a thought partner, he reminded himself. She needed a counterbalance to Jaheira’s mothering and Khalid’s doting.

He was doing her a favour, nothing more.

The camp had been well set up by the time they arrived back at the grove, with the others in light discussion around the beginnings of a campfire. Jaheira gave the two elves a sharp look as she caught sight of them.

“Were you waiting for the herbs to grow before you collected them?” she asked archly.

Elene responded with a sheepish smile. “Would you like work on a batch tonight?”

The druid harrumphed but relented to prepare a batch of healing salves with her. Dinner was uneventful, with the fare being roasted rabbits that Kivan returned with. They set up watches throughout the night despite their proximity to the druid circle. There was no telling what the druids within agreed on during their commune, after all. They needed to be prepared for hostility.

Xan noted with approval that Jaheira set the watch rota such that she was on watch with Coran.

The night passed by without any sign of danger, up until the final watch with Xan and Kivan. Darkness was only beginning to lift when the enchanter heard footsteps coming from the druid enclave. He nudged Khalid resting closest to him, then scrambled to his feet.

“Kivan, rouse them,” he told his kinsman as he strode forward to meet their approaching guests.

Seniyad walked at the fore, flanked by two men and a woman. They were armed and looked prepared for battle but did not brandish their weapons. For the time being, they did not look hostile. Xan kept his expression neutral and his hands loose at his sides as the stony faces came into speaking distance. He wondered if he could get off a Confusion spell before they jumped him. For his sake, he hoped he would not have to put that idea to the test.

“Good morning, Seniyad,” he greeted the archdruid with a respectful nod.

The old man tilted his head in greeting. “And to you. I trust you have had a good rest, Master elf. I would speak with Jaheira.”

“I am here,” Jaheira stepped forward, already sharp and ready despite being her abrupt awakening. “Have you decided on our next course?”

Seniyad nodded. “The circle will aid you in striking the Iron Throne base.”

“Is there a ‘but’?” Jaheira arched an eyebrow at him.

“You know our ways,” his lips quirked. “In return, you will aid us in culling the wyvern that terrorises the woods. The creature cannot be allowed to continue its rampage in the farmlands, it will only bring more armed men down on our heads. That is the last thing the circle here wants.”

“Why can you not handle that yourselves?” she shot back, annoyance colouring her tone. “The Oakfather allows us to cull creatures that have gone mad and upset the balance. It is in our tenets.”

“Do not quote our tenets, mongrel,” hissed the woman accompanying Seniyad.

“You are not one of us,” agreed another.

It was subtle, a blink and you miss it gesture, but Seniyad shook his head at Jaheira.

“Ah, I see how it is,” she lifted her chin. “You would not endanger your own for such a task, but our blood is fair game.” She levelled a cool look at her former mentor. “This circle has changed much since I was last here, it seems.”

“Such are the terms for our aid, Jaheira. Do you accept them?” Seniyad asked, ignoring her jibe.

“And if I refuse, we must make our own way to the Mines? And be harassed by your hounds every step of the way?” she rebutted, casting baleful looks at the other druids.

Their cold smiles answered her question even though they said nothing. Seniyad also remained silent, but he looked almost pained at what was transpiring. It was apparent that his hands were tied. Xan glanced at Jaheira, noting her cold fury. The more ‘militant’ members of this circle had the upper hand somehow.

“Very well,” she finally replied through gritted teeth. “We will see to your wyvern problem. And you will aid us in our task with the Iron Throne.”

“Good.” Seniyad gestured to the woman on his right and then a man to his left. “Faldorn and Takiyah will take you to the wyvern’s lair and render what assistance they can. I will prepare the others for the strike on the installation.”

With that, Seniyad and one of the druids departed, leaving Faldorn and Takiyah behind. Faldorn was a fearsome woman, with dark woad markings adorning her face and her teeth filed down to resemble that of a shark. Her dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, which had various wooden beads woven into it. Takiyah was more nondescript, a broad, brown-haired man dressed in fur-laden armour, his eyes shining with a predatory glint.

“We move now, mongrel. Before the wyvern rises for its morning hunt,” Faldorn snapped at Jaheira.

Jaheira advanced on her, eyes narrowed. “Call me mongrel again and you will miss your tongue when I rip it out, beast.”

Xan put a hand on his moonblade even as he saw Takiyah begin to finger the cudgel at his belt. The air was thick with tension.

Then, Coran glided over to put his hands out between the two women. “Ladies, come now. You’re both far too lovely to be beating on each other like this. Let’s work together on this, the wyvern isn’t going to sit there and wait, after all. Shall we get a move on?”

Two intense glares landed on him, and he swallowed as both women contemplated ending him for his remark. Eventually, though, Jaheira took a step back, then jerked her head towards the rest of the group.

“Let’s get moving.”

Xan exhaled slowly, dropping his hand. They packed up their belongings at record speed, then set out north trailing the two inhospitable druids. As they walked, Takiyah explained that the wyvern lair is a cave not far away. Apparently, the creature had tried to attack the Iron Throne base but had been hit by a ball of fire coming from within the compound, and it never made the attempt again. Elene sent a worried look at Xan as they heard this. He knew what she was thinking. A ball of fire launched from within sounds like they could have a mage on guard.

Breaching the Iron Throne base was a problem to be addressed later, he supposed. They would have to survive this mad wyvern hunt first. He glanced at Coran, who was trying to engage Elene in conversation as they moved along.

At least they brought bait, he thought drily.


	23. The hunter of beasts

The air was still. Dawn seemed to almost sneak up on them as it slowly bathed the area in soft orange light. It was almost idyllic, but for the deathly silence surrounding them and the stench of carrion wafting out of the cave, the lair of the wyvern they were hunting.

Kivan checked his quiver again, making note of a few special arrows within. Wyverns were tough beasts but with him, Coran, Khalid and Imoen focusing the beast down as it emerged from its lair, they could end the battle before it could close on them. Of course, that was assuming there was only one of the creatures within. Takiyah seemed to think there may be more than one in the vicinity, judging from the number of carcasses they found. The man seemed almost excited at the notion of battling two of the beasts, as if looking for a chance to test his mettle.

In Kivan’s mind, though, this was an unnecessary diversion. They needed to get to the Mines. They needed to get to Tazok.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of movement from within the cave.

“Be ready,” he announced, keeping his voice level.

Beside him, Coran, Khalid and Imoen nocked their bows. He did the same, selecting a particularly nasty arrow for his first volley. Further back, Elene dropped into a crouch, her hand loose by her side, ready to launch a spell. Xan remained standing behind her, motionless but just as prepared. Jaheira and the two druids were on the other side of the rocky approach to the cave, their skins resembling tree barks, to deflect the worst of the wyvern’s claws if it came to it.

Claws scraped against stone. The sound grated on his ears as the creature came into his line of sight at the mouth of the cave. It was a large grey-scaled beast, scrabbling forward with two scaly legs and the tips of its leathery wings. Finally, he saw the arrow-shaped stinger make its appearance, flicking back and forth behind the wyvern to stabilise the creature. He felt grateful for the vial of antidote on his belt. The poison from a wyvern could end a man in minutes if left untreated.

The wyvern cleared the cave entrance and began to stretch its wings.

“Now!” Jaheira shouted.

Kivan loosed his acid-tipped arrow, which flew true and struck the wyvern’s right wing. The others likewise hit their targets, the first round of attack designed to keep the beast grounded for the fight. An ear-piercing shriek resounded from the creature as it flailed from the impact of four arrows, drawing a wince from Imoen. But Kivan ignored it, already nocking another arrow for the second volley, his motion mirrored perfectly by Coran.

Faldorn raised her hands and called forth her summons, three snarling dread wolves which materialised from thin air not far from the wyvern. The wolves nipped at the wyvern’s legs, trying to tilt it off balance. Despite its injuries, the wyvern was still in fighting form, and it showed when it whipped its stinger forward and killed one of the wolves in one fell blow. The wolf didn’t stand a chance.

His second arrow jammed into the joint connecting its right wing to the body, the acid splashing across with a satisfying hiss. He was certain it won’t be able to fly off anytime soon. Job done, he nocked his third arrow to aim for vitals the next round.

This was easier than he thought it would be.

In the next minute, the wyvern finished off the two remaining wolves with crushing bites and whip-like trashing of its stinger. But as far as they were concerned, the wolves had done their job well. Takiyah growled as he shifted into a brown bear and charged the wyvern, sensing an easy kill. Khalid put down his bow and moved off to join Jaheira in the melee. Twin bolts of fire flew in from behind to hold off the beast while Khalid closed in. Although the bolts themselves didn’t do much damage, it made the creature more erratic as it seemed to panic at the sudden flashes of fire.

Just as Takiyah clawed a chunk of flesh from the wyvern’s exposed belly, Kivan’s ears caught the ominous sound of claws scraping within the cave again.

“There’s another one coming!” he yelled.

That was all the warning the rest had before a second wyvern launched itself out of the cave, hissing angrily. Jaheira quickly repositioned herself away from the new threat, calling forth entangling vines to snare up the second wyvern as she did. The archers likewise redirected their fire, Kivan cursing as he did. Their efforts didn’t do much good as the beast had already taken flight and easily deflected their uncoordinated attacks.

As the first wyvern crumpled in a heap, the second wyvern swooped in with both claws at Takiyah in his bear form, singling him out as the biggest threat due to his size. Its rapid claw attacks shredded the bear’s flesh, forcing Takiyah to revert to his human form. Unfortunately, he did so on all fours, leaving him unprepared to backpedal away when the wyvern swung in with its tail at his head for a coup de grace.

Faldorn shrieked when the stinger connected, ending his life.

The next few minutes went by simultaneously very quickly and in slow motion. Khalid and Jaheira danced out of the way of the wyvern’s follow up attacks with its stingers, but it got closer to striking them with each blow. The archers began to adjust to the creature’s movements, however, and began striking at its wings to ground it, just as they’d done for the first wyvern. Once it landed, Faldorn transformed herself into a dire wolf and charged recklessly into the fray.

Jaheira overextended when she reached over to jab her staff at the creature’s leg joint, however, giving it an opening to thrash its stinger at her. It was a glancing blow on her arm, but it connected nonetheless, despite her protective magic. Hissing in pain, Jaheira backed away, fumbling at a vial of antidote from her belt. The creature made to advance on her, but a large earthen fist burst out from the ground, grabbing one of it’s clawed legs and holding it in place. It reared back and let out an enraged shriek as it tried to get away.

In doing so, it left its throat exposed. Coran put arrow through the centre of its throat with a whoop of triumph, and his arrow was almost immediately joined by another from Kivan, his aimed for the eye. The wyvern gurgled and teetered on its feet before crashing to the ground, already dead.

Kivan lowered his bow, watching Khalid reach for his wife. Jaheira should be in safe hands, Khalid carried an entire belt full of healing potions on him. He noticed Elene about to rush past him, presumably to try to heal Jaheira and prevent the worst of the damage from the wyvern’s poison. But the ranger pulled her back by the arm.

“Let her take the potions,” he told her.

“But my ability works faster…” she began.

He tightened his grip and pulled her close. “Use it only when there’s no other choice, Elene.”

“Why?” she asked, startled.

“Just do as I ask.” He gave her a reprimanding look. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

“I…” She stared at him with something akin to trepidation. After a moment, though, she seemed to read something in his expression. Slowly, she began to nod. His point made, he released her and went to check the cave.

Carefully, he inched toward the mouth of the cave, his ears peeled for any motion from within. The stench became almost overpowering as he stood at the cusp of the lair, and in the darkness, he could make out the multitude of carcasses littering the floor within. Further in the back, there seemed to be a nest of sorts, with broken remnants of what must be eggs. A slow scan of the area yielded nothing living.

“Clear,” he announced.

Imoen appeared at his shoulder. “Should we check inside?”

He half-shrugged. Nothing in there would likely interest him.

Returning to the scene of the battle, he saw that Jaheira had quaffed both antidote and healing potion but remained pale and weakened, with Khalid hovering protectively near her. Faldorn had reverted to her human form and was bent over her fallen comrade, her face twisted with grief.

“You fool, you were supposed to stay back and let them deal with it,” she whispered to Takiyah’s lifeless form, so softly that only elven ears would have caught it.

He then noticed Coran, the elf inspecting the larger wyvern carcass with interest. As if trying to pick out a part to take as souvenir.

“A beauty, isn’t she? Just what Kelddath ordered,” the rogue whistled.

“You may want to wait before doing that,” Kivan remarked in an undertone, flicking a meaningful glance at Faldorn. In her current state, there was no telling how she would react to trophy-taking, feral beast or not.

Following his gaze, Coran nodded. “Right. Point taken, friend.”

Kivan almost wanted to scoff. So, the rogue had some sense after all.

“We can help you bury your friend,” Elene offered to Faldorn.

“Leave off. I don’t need your help,” the druid whipped her head to glare at her instead.

Getting to her feet, Faldorn pointed to the ground close to Takiyah’s body. A large patch of earth was gouged out almost by an invisible hand, cast to one side in a mound. Whispering unintelligibly, she got to work dragging her companion into the makeshift grave, staunchly ignoring the rest of them as she set about her grisly task. Elene looked to Xan, but the enchanter just shook his head. Let her be, his look said.

Once Faldorn was done, she wiped her hands on her tunic. She looked no less fearsome now that she was on her own among them.

“It is done. I wish it had been one of you to take the blow, but perhaps you still have your uses,” she hissed, her gaze directed at Jaheira. “Get up. We are to meet with the rest of the Circle at the installation by tomorrow. I cannot wait to drown those bastards in their own filth.”

Khalid looked about ready to protest until Jaheira waved him off. “Let us not waste time then.”

Despite suffering the aftereffects of the wyvern poison, Jaheira showed no signs of wobbliness as she mockingly gestured for Faldorn to lead the way. With a huff, the other druid stalked away, moving eastward to their real prize.

“You lot go on ahead, I’ll catch up,” Coran piped up.

“Watch out fer things dropping from the sky,” Imoen wagged her finger at him, earning her a chuckle.

It had taken them several hours to get to the wyvern lair from the druid grove. But a significant portion of that journey had been through a steep climb down, which they would not be able to manage in reverse. Furthermore, Takiyah had been the one to smoothen the journey by controlling parts of the terrain. Given that avenue was permanently closed to them, Faldorn was forced to take them through a more roundabout route to the Mines.

Basically, more time wasted.

With a skilled navigator already at the head of the group, Kivan relegated himself to the tail of the pack to stew in silence. Despite his drive to get to the Mines, he was hounded by a strong feeling that Tazok was no longer in the Cloakwoods. Too much time had passed between their raid of the monster’s camp and their journey to the Iron Throne base.

But for the first time since Deheriana’s death, he was troubled by something other than his hunt for Tazok.

He stifled a yawn, trying to ignore the leaden fatigue weighing him down. His nights have not been restful since the camp raid. Try as he might, reverie did not come easily. In its place, he wandered a blurry dreamscape void of everything but an ominous sensation that lingered even after he’d opened his eyes in the morning.

For the past week, he’d avoided much interaction with the others. He didn’t want them to see his struggle. But most of all, he didn’t know what to think of Elene.

Months ago, he’d accepted her friendship and walked her path in hopes that her group would help him pursue Tazok. They were still on the right track. The Iron Throne is the key to both their problems, that much was evident. His doubts about her came to the fore that night in the bandit camp, as his life blood poured onto the ground and his vision began to fade around the edges. The night she touched his gaping chest and poured something into the wound, making him whole once more.

_In the dimness of the large tent, her hands almost seemed to glow, and he stiffened in pain as she touched him with that unholy light. His flesh began to forcefully knit itself together, as if compelled by a powerful will. Like a divine healing spell, but cruder. Harsher._

_“I…made it better,” she’d whispered, after all was mended._

And yet, as she healed him, he’d thought of death, of blood spilt on cold stone, of suffering beyond imagining. Whatever power she’d used, it was unnatural, and it shook him to the core.

He wondered if she’d doomed him.

Looking at her trekking ahead of him with Imoen, though, he could not imagine anything evil coming from her. Granted, she was no longer that girl who sat paralysed as a bounty hunter menaced her. But not so long ago, she had shown mercy to a drow out of a naïve sense of fairness. How could the same girl be capable of drawing on such frightening powers?

His musings came to a halt as he heard the tell-tale patter of boots not far behind him. He paused, half-turning to check. Within a minute, Coran appeared from the thickets, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hail, friend. Glad you waited,” the other elf remarked, an amused glimmer in his eyes.

“Where did you keep it?” the ranger asked, studying him with mild curiosity. A wyvern’s body part is not something easily hidden from sight. He would have thought he’d taken the head as proof, and that was about the size of his torso.

Coran winked. “Us rogues have our little tricks.”

Kivan shook his head, unwilling to rise to the bait. He turned to resume his trek.

They made swift progress through the woods with Faldorn’s guidance. Despite her apparent youth, she was a seasoned dweller of the Cloakwoods, intimately familiar with its twists and turns, and its threats. Imoen and Coran were the only ones of their group brave or foolish enough to try and strike up conversation with her as they went along. But as expected, the woman had little patience for idle chatter. She kept all of them at arms’ length, which suited most of them just fine.

The sun was reaching its zenith the following day when they began to crest a steep hill. It overlooked a small valley with a river threading through the landscape. Kivan picked out a vantage point with sufficient tree cover to hide their presence from searching eyes. Once there, Faldorn stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the sprawling man-made structure in the valley. She looked as though she wanted nothing more than to torch the place.

“There it is,” she all but spat.

Kivan shielded his eyes from the afternoon glare as he scanned the place. Tall wooden planks had been erected for fence in what seemed to be sizeable barracks, stables and a storehouse, which looked fairly new even from a distance. Beyond the storehouse, the path narrowed into a plank bridge which spanned over a potion of the river, leading to a large, elevated structure with cranks and cogs. Judging from the design and colouring, that part of the complex seemed much older than the rest. Glancing around, he realised that the Cloakwood Mines was exclusively underground, unlikely the Nashkel mines which had a quarry on the outside.

“Dwarven make,” he concluded.

“Just as you suspected from the start,” said Xan as he flicked a look toward Jaheira.

Jaheira merely clenched her jaw.

The barracks could probably house dozens of guards and mercenaries while the storehouse appeared sufficient to store food for an entire village. But since everything else was underground, there was no telling how many people could possibly be in the mines.

“How many people are in there?” Khalid asked Faldorn.

“We’ve lost count,” she replied with a shrug. “Dozens, maybe a hundred by now. Men in metal armour, men in rags and loincloths, sometimes we see a few men in robes wander the perimeter.” She shook her head. “We let them have their way for too long.”

“How often do caravans come to ship out the ore?” Xan queried.

“Once a tenday, thereabouts. The last caravan left about five days ago, a big one. It came laden with people, but it left with ore.”

Elene shot a worried glance at Kivan. He ignored her. He needed to be sure the half-ogre was no longer in the Mines. Otherwise, he would need to rethink his next steps. This wild goose chase had gone on for long enough.

A brown squirrel came bounding out from the undergrowth and suddenly paused at Faldorn’s feet. Its large dark eyes stared up at her, as if waiting for something. Curious, she studied it for a moment before dropping into a crouch.

“Who is that? Laskal? You should bring the others here.”

The squirrel cocked its head to one side, as though thinking, then skittered back the way it came from.

“That was weird,” muttered Imoen.

Faldorn settled herself at the base of a tree in a meditative stance. Then she frowned at them. “We will wait for the others.”

Elene and Imoen exchanged bemused looks before settling down for the wait. After a moment, Xan and Coran joined them. Jaheira and Khalid remained unmoving as they waited, their eyes never straying far from their guide.

They were not idle for long. 

Kivan observed as eight druids approached the hill, Seniyad at their head. The squirrel Faldorn spoke to zipped ahead of the group, coming to a halt close to her. Then, the air around the creature seemed to shift before the squirrel shifted into a man, crouched on all fours. He straightened up, stretching his shoulders as he did. They recognised him as the other druid accompanying Seniyad in the morning before they left the grove. He was a kindlier looking fellow than his brethren, his golden hair streaked with grey like Seniyad.

“Laskal,” Faldorn nodded at him.

“Where is Takiyah?” he asked, glancing at each of them in turn.

Faldorn dropped her gaze. “The wyvern took him.”

Laskal sighed. “And the circle grows smaller each day.”

“It saddens me to hear this. Takiyah will be mourned, and we will give him proper rites,” remarked Seniyad as he reached their group. Then he turned to Jaheira. “But since Faldorn remains hale, it seems you have met your end of the bargain. How many wyverns did you slay?”

“There were only two at the cave, both adults. They have been killing more than what they need to survive, that much was clear,” she replied.

Laskal and Seniyad exchanged looks. “Then it is a matter of finding the hatchlings and making sure they can survive, to replace those that are lost. We hope the natural order can be resumed once these Iron Throne rabble are removed from these woods,” Laskal remarked, gesturing at the installation.

“And now to the matter at hand.” Seniyad canted his head at Khalid and Jaheira. “We are prepared to fulfil our end of the deal. Would you like to hear what we know of the base so far?”

“We’re listening,” Khalid replied.

As Seniyad explained the lay of the land, it became clear to Kivan that no single party of adventurers could take on this challenge alone. The installation is a legacy of the dwarven Orothiar clan, who operated out of the Cloakwoods centuries ago, until disaster struck. In their quest for yet more iron, they breached the underground riverbed and flooded the entire mine, which consisted of multiple sub-levels of dwarven tunnels. Only a small handful of the clan made it out alive and they fled soon after. Over time, the structures surrounding the mines fell apart and the land was reclaimed by the forest, just as nature intended.

Now, the Iron Throne had pumped out all the water from the tunnels. Seniyad was unsure precisely how many sub-levels lay below the surface, but he wagered there could up to three or four, given the number of people who had gone into those mines of late. As expected, the guards lived in the barracks when they were off shift, but the miners were kept almost exclusively underground.

“These guards…they are almost all humans, yes?” Elene asked as she mulled things over.

“Yes.” Seniyad’s lips quirked. “You are considering a night assault, perhaps?”

“That worked the last time,” she replied, looking to Jaheira.

“We don’t have the same numbers as the last time, child,” Jaheira reminded her.

“On the contrary,” Laskal smirked, “You likely have more.”

Jaheira frowned. “You plan to use animals to assault? It would be a bloodbath.”

“We know we cannot win a frontal battle with these men,” Seniyad stepped in. “Perhaps, we could enlist the help of our wild brothers and sisters for a diversion, and nothing more.” He smiled thinly. “And a little fire on their wooden structures while they sleep to keep it interesting.”

“I presume while this is going on, another group would be heading underground to cut off the head of the snake?” Xan remarked mildly.

“And pray tell, how would this group get out without getting their own heads cut off?” Jaheira asked in turn.

“A wooden bridge connects the barracks to the mines,” Seniyad answered. “There is another gate on the other side, used to ship out the ore. But it is unwieldy and not heavily guarded thus far. Once you get to the other side and disable the gate, we can collapse the bridge. Then you will only have to contend with foes within the mines.”

Coran tugged at his collar. “If there are three sub-levels underneath, could be more barracks down there. You’d be shaking up an entire hive of ants before you know it.” He looked around nervously. “Much as I love a good thrill, seems like a death wish to go in blind. Not quite what I signed up for.”

“You are free to remain here, if you wish,” Jaheira told him in a faux-saccharine tone.

“Excellent suggestion, I can be part of the distraction,” he winked, ignoring her sarcasm. “Give me a good perch and I can take out a dozen guards before they even realise I’m there.”

“Looks like we have a plan,” Elene concluded, her face grim.

“Hear me, Jaheira,” Seniyad raised a hand. “To drain the water out, they would have plugged the old breach. But the breach is still there. No matter what happens, you will find it, and one way or another, you will unleash the river upon them. This mine cannot be allowed to exist.”

“We will try. As soon as we get the miners out,” she countered, her chin raised in defiance.

Seniyad shook his head, his countenance darkening. “If you fail to do so, we will do it ourselves. Regardless of who remains within.”

Kivan observed the shocked looks of his companions, but he wasn’t surprised by the old druid’s admission. He’d implied as much from the beginning. Taking a deep breath, the ranger gazed out at the installation. He didn’t mind the ultimatum so much. If Tazok was down there somewhere, he would flood the mines himself.

Regardless of who remains within.

_Author’s note:_

_Finally, we get into the Cloakwood Mines. It’s likely to get a bit dark, literally and figuratively, so hang on to your hats, folks._


End file.
